Confutatis
by YellowDancer
Summary: Sequel to Libera Me. With the final showdown looming, a long night leads to frustration and revelation--and very little sleep.
1. Expressions of Loneliness

**Author's Note: This story is a sequel to Libera Me. Please read all 29 chapters of that story before beginning this one. There. I warned you in two different places, so hopefully I won't get any complaints. :)**

**When you start reading this chapter, you're probably going to think, wtf? And rightly so. It won't make sense at first, I promise you. I had half of this chapter written when I decided that it was about time I wrote something a little more experimental. That is why I started writing this fanfiction in the first place, anyway: to experiment. Anyway, I hope the experiment proves successful. Don't give up on the weirdness!**

Chapter One

Expressions of Loneliness

Air crashed into Amon's lungs, burning against his raw throat and nearly choking him with its rank, stale flavor. His muscles ached as his ribs expanded as if they hadn't been used for a very long time, and his head spun from the surge of oxygen in his veins. He opened his eyes slowly, the action taking more effort than he would have expected. Disoriented by the twisted, shadowy shape of the ceiling obscured by a blinding light far above him, he immediately allowed his eyes to slide shut.

Several moments later, he decided to try again, though he was mildly disappointed to find that the scenery hadn't changed. A rush of panic sent adrenaline pumping through his body as a sense of wrongness struck him. Where was he, and how had he gotten there? His heart flopped in his chest like a fish out of water when he realized he couldn't remember. He had absolutely no recollection of anything leading up to this moment. The last thing in his memory was the feeling of Robin's hand gripped tightly in his own and the curve of the road as he sped around the lake toward Beatrice's location. Beyond that, nothing...

Gradually, he pushed himself up on his elbows, a sharp pain in his back causing him to wince. Whatever had happened, it had hurt like hell. Had they gotten in a wreck? His heart flipped again at the thought. Where was Robin? His eyes darted around his surroundings but his mind could process very little of what he was seeing; it was almost completely pitch black except for the pool of light around him, and whatever lay beyond the light was nothing more than indiscernible, undulating shadows. He blinked and squinted into the shadows, his eyes slowly adjusting enough to make out a shape just beyond the circle of light. It was a heavy block of what appeared to be stone, carved into a grotesque throne-like shape.

A figure was seated on the throne its features hidden by the shadows, though it sat so still that Amon considered the possibility it was merely a statue. Then, it spoke. "So, you're finally awake." Amon peered into the darkness, his eyes straining to make out the man whose voice sounded so chillingly familiar. "Welcome to the afterlife, Amon," the man said, his elbows resting on the arms of the throne and his hands clasped in front of him. He leaned forward slightly and light spilled across his face, familiar lines cast into harsh angles by the light.

Amon attempted to swallow past the dry spot in his throat. "Zaizen," he hissed.

"Don't look so surprised." Zaizen's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You knew that I, at least, would end up here, didn't you?"

Air escaped Amon's lungs again as he pushed himself into a sitting position despite the cutting pain in his back. "Where am I?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

Zaizen shrugged, leaning back in the throne, his face obscured by shadows once again. "Where else? Hell."

A fragment of memory flashed through Amon's mind, searing in its intensity but too elusive for his bewildered mind to understand. _A fiery, pulsating heat...the sensation of falling--of flying--of being...nothing...Robin's scream echoing in his ears...fingernails digging into his skin...eyes darker than pitch swallowing him whole..._

Gasping for air, Amon shook the pieces of memory away, his fingers clawing at the cracked, dusty ground beneath him. When his heart had slowed enough for him to hear the sound of Zaizen chuckling softly above the brutal pounding in his ears, he glared up at the dark figure on the throne. "This isn't real," he said firmly, willing the words to be true.

Zaizen shifted in his seat, the light illuminating half of his face again as he smiled darkly. "You're starting to remember, aren't you?"

_Thick, choking fog, a white curtain obscuring his vision...Beatrice crying out in victory, laughter bubbling out of her throat as lightning crackled across the broken sky...a gunshot echoing through the valley, repeating into the silence... blond hair against black leather blurring across his vision... _Clutching his head in his hands and digging his fingernails into his scalp, Amon stopped the chaotic rush of memory and panted for air once again.

"You're wondering if they're really your memories," Zaizen said pensively. "You're wondering if this is a trick."

Looking up at Zaizen through tangled strands of black hair, Amon snapped, "Is it?"

"Would I deceive you, Amon?"

"Yes," Amon answered immediately.

"What good would it do? What reason could I possibly have for manipulating your memories?"

Struggling slowly to his feet, Amon glared at him through the murky darkness. "You wouldn't be sitting there gloating if you didn't have something to do with this."

"Don't look at _me_," Zaizen said, leaning back on the throne again and crossing his legs leisurely. "I'm as much of a victim here as you are."

"I highly doubt that."

"I'm sure you do." Zaizen steepled his fingers in front of him. "But there's no point in arguing. We're both stuck in the same hell together."

"If this is Hell," Amon said irritably, "does that make you the devil?" He turned in a slow circle without stepping out of the pool of light, struggling to identify the other vague shapes in the darkness beyond.

"Does it make you feel better to cast all the blame on me, Amon? Does it ease your guilt?"

Reaching a hand out into the darkness experimentally, Amon replied, "I'm done playing your games, Zaizen. You have no hold on me now."

"That is essentially correct, I suppose. I have no power over you here...other than the power you give me so freely."

Amon spun around to face him again with a snarl, nearly loosing his balance in the process as the world refused to stop spinning around him for a moment. "I have given you nothing."

"Oh?" Leaning forward, a satisfied smirk on his features, Zaizen added, "What about your anger, then? You let me incite you. 'He who angers you controls you.'"

Swallowing hard, Amon closed his eyes and took a step backward into the darkness. The darkness felt no different than the light. Opening his eyes again, he saw the pool of light a few feet away. A rocky, amorphous landscape stretched as far as the dim illumination allowed him to see, but the air felt no moister, no cooler than the stale air in the pool of light.

He returned his attention to the stone throne, and found that it was empty. Fear twisted the muscles of his back and he bit back a cry of pain. He strained to touch his back, his curiosity finally pushing him to find the source of his pain, but his hand jerked away immediately when he felt slick, torn fabric. His hand was damp and he looked down at it in the darkness, though all he could see was a black streak across his palm. Steeling himself, he stepped into the light again, fully expecting to see the red stain of blood.

There was nothing on his hand.

"You can't blame me for everything, Amon," Zaizen said, his voice low and dangerous. Amon searched the shadows for him, his hand clenching into a fist. "You're here because of your own sins."

"My sins are none of your concern."

Zaizen's voice was suddenly right beside him and Amon turned to see Zaizen standing at the edge of the pool of light, half of his body still obscured by shadows. "Ah, but they _are_ my concern. They are the reason I'm here, in fact, since I was sent here to judge them."

Shaking his head involuntary, an edge of hysteria to his voice, Amon heard himself cry, "Stop lying to me!" as he stumbled backward into the darkness.

----------

"_Stop lying to me!" Amon cried, fighting against the black suited man holding him back._

_An older woman with kindly features and an unkind glint in her eyes patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Your mother's waiting for you in the car, Amon," she said with a tight smile. "There's no reason to fight us. Don't you want to see her?"_

_Looking up at her with angry grey eyes, Amon growled, "My mother is dead."_

"_Your mother is very sick, Amon. We came here to take care of her."_

"_Let me go!" he screamed, fighting to break free from the grip on his arms._

"_That's enough," the woman said, straightening and crossing her arms over her chest. Glancing at the street around them in concern, she turned to the man restraining him. "He's going to cause a scene. We'll have to take the risk. Bring him to the car."_

_Gritting his teeth, Amon fought against the man as he dragged him down the street to the glossy black limousine--but he was only a child, and the men were twice his size and strong. They approached the car one contested step at a time, and he felt afraid at the sight of those tinted windows for no reason he could explain. A fleeting hope mixed with fear swept through his mind. What if they had been telling the truth? What if the nightmare he had witnessed only hours before had only been in his mind? He wasn't sure which possibility frightened him more, the reality that he was a child without a guardian and no rights, or the thought that his mother might actually still be alive._

_One of the men yanked open the door of the limousine while the other shoved Amon roughly inside. He was horrified to find that his mother was inside the car just as the woman had said--though in a state no child should ever have to see his mother in. She was in a coffin. This was not a limousine; it was a hearse. Amon shrunk away from the long, black-lacquered box, his hands gripping the edge of leather seat beneath him. _

_The woman in the lab coat had taken the seat across from him, one of the burly men in black sitting down next to her. She flipped open a cell phone and pressed it to her ear. "We have them both," she said coldly, her eyes focusing on him with indifference. "Do you have the test results yet?" Her eyes narrowed. "I see. We'll be there shortly."_

_The car took off down the street, and Amon looked out the window as the dilapidated house that should have been his home disappeared from view. He pressed his fingers against the glass, trying to still the storm he could feel stirring inside of him; it was the first time he had ever felt this sensation before, but it terrified him. His mother had talked about storms when the sun was shining and the sky was blue from horizon to horizon, and he knew that the wind and thunder she had heard then were only in her mind._

"_He's a Seed too," the woman said, and Amon turned back to look at her again in fear. "His powers haven't awoken yet, but we should sedate him just in case. Emotional trauma could trigger his craft."_

_Shaking his head, Amon tried to melt into the leather upholstery when he saw the woman leaning toward him, filling a syringe with thick yellow liquid. The man sitting beside her held Amon down when he tried to squirm away and he felt a stinging sensation in his arm a moment before the world began spinning and finally faded to black._

-----------

Amon was in the pool of light again on his hands and knees sweat dripping from his chin along with tears. The temperature in the room--if it could even be called a room--had risen considerably and the air seared his lungs with every breath. "That's... not how it happened," he managed to say between gasping breaths.

"Does it really matter?" Zaizen asked, his polished black shoes crunching on the sandy dirt as he walked around him in a slow circle, following the edge of the pool of light. "It's close enough to the truth, isn't it? Your mother committed suicide and agents from Solomon took you away. They ran tests on you and studied you until they were satisfied that you weren't a threat. They stole away your childhood and made you into the cold, mechanical soldier you are today."

Amon looked up at Zaizen's shadow-obscured figure. "No. You did that."

Zaizen turned too look at him, a conceited expression on his face. "How can you condemn me? I saved you, Amon. I gave you hope. Solomon was interested only in using you to hunt as many of your own kind as you could before you became unusable--before they had to hunt you instead."

"And you?" Amon asked sadly, slowly sitting back on his heels. "You intended the same thing for me, didn't you?"

"You would have been lost far sooner without my orbo, Amon, and you know it. I extended your life. How dare you judge me?"

Shaking his head to clear it, Amon asked, "Why am I here? What are you trying to do, Zaizen?"

"I already told you," Zaizen answered with a frown, "I am here to judge your sins."

"How did I get here?" Amon demanded.

Zaizen's frown turned into a mocking smile. "The answer is in your mind, Amon. I'm not allowed to tell you."

"Not allowed? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Amon struggled to his feet again, prepared to set off walking through the dim landscape as long as was necessary to find out if this space was confined by walls and if there was a way out.

"Are you just going to run away?" Zaizen asked suddenly from a few feet in front of him, only his face illuminated.

Amon blinked, his suspicion that he was only dreaming gaining validity. "I'm not playing your games."

"That's the problem, though, isn't it? They're not _my_ games. They're yours." Zaizen gestured toward something behind Amon, and, though Amon hated to follow any indication made by Zaizen, he turned to look anyway.

Fear clawed at his chest like a bird clamoring to break free from a cage when he saw the whirlwind at the center of the pool of light. Frigid air whipped through his hair as the torrent of wind spiraled in on itself, coiling tighter and tighter and growling like a monster about to strike. His eyes stung as he stared at the tornado of wind and power, recognizing it for what it was: a part of him.

"That is the greatest of your sins, the craft you have sacrificed so much of your life fighting."

----------

"_Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Nagira asked, sliding into the seat next to him and closing the car door._

_Amon watched the couple walking down the front steps of the building, a baby bundled in the woman's arms and tried not to feel what he was feeling. Gripping the steering wheel fiercely with gloved hands, Amon swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes," he answered, his voice sounding empty, even to his own ears._

_His half-brother turned to look at him with concern in his eyes, but Amon did not meet his gaze. "You're sure you won't regret it?"_

_Shifting his focus to the dashboard, Amon started the car, a frown twisting his lips. "Thank you for your help, Nagira," he said coldly. "Do you want me to drop you off at your place?"_

_Nagira shook his head and Amon could see his half smile out of the corner of his eyes as he put the car in gear and drove out into traffic. "Smooth evasion, Amon. I could almost believe it if it weren't for the tremble in your hand. Listen, I know you want to protect her... but has it ever occurred to you that maybe you need her? Maybe a child is what you need to get your act together and stop blaming yourself for--"_

"_You don't know anything about me," Amon snapped._

_Nagira laughed softly. "I know you're an asshole. And I know you can barely tolerate me, but you're right. I don't know much about you--but that's not for lack of trying. You won't let me know."_

"_As I said," Amon said firmly, "I appreciate your assistance in this matter. I don't need your opinions as well."_

_Sighing, Nagira turned to look out the window. "What are you going to do now? Are you going back to Europe?"_

"_It doesn't matter." Amon could feel his craft stirring inside of him again; it was seldom silent anymore and he was starting to lose the will to fight it. _

"_Maybe it doesn't matter to you," Nagira said angrily, "but it matters to me, dammit!"_

_Amon didn't reply, knowing that Nagira wouldn't like his answer. He was going away, and he was never coming back. Nagira didn't say another word on their trip to his apartment, but his anger was thick in the air, and his eyes were burning with it when he opened the door to leave. _

_Glancing back at Amon, as he climbed out of the car, Nagira said, "It's true that I barely know you, but I still know you well enough to know what you're thinking. It's not the answer, Amon. It's a chicken shitty way to get out of your problems, and I will never forgive you if you go through with it. I know you won't take my help, so I won't even offer it, but please, Amon... get some help somewhere. I don't want the next time I see you to be at your funeral."_

_The door slammed and Amon sat in the car silently, watching the empty road before him. _

----------

"This is not happening," Amon growled, backing away from the torrent of energy slowly and shielding himself with his arms. "This is not real."

"So you're just going to deny it all, then, Amon?" Zaizen growled. "You're going to deny that you're in Hell? That I'm here? That you've allowed your craft to consume your soul? That you failed?"

"I don't remember anything!" Amon cried in response, burying his face in his hands.

"You're the one lying, Amon--lying to yourself. Your beloved Robin died in your arms and you refuse to even remember it."

"Robin," Amon whispered despairingly, his hands dropping to his sides as the pain of the memory came back to him in a rush.

-----------

_Robin's body went limp in his arms and a roar of raw emotion tore from Amon's throat. He rocked back and forth slightly holding her like a baby to his chest, but he knew it was over; the connection between them was severed. Brushing damp hair from her face gently, he felt her skin already cooling beneath his fingers and he whimpered softly, the sound barely more than a moan. _

_A week ago, he would have fervently denied that he had any feelings for this girl, would have pretended that her death meant nothing to him. But in one short week he had allowed her to slip into his heart and make a place for herself there--and he knew that there would be a gaping hole left behind forever because of what she had done to him in that single week. The process had started before that point, of course, but he had not allowed her to get close enough to him until recently for him to build an attachment. If it had only taken a week for him to lose this much of himself to her, what would have happened if they had been together longer?_

_Amon wasn't sure how long he sat there no longer feeling anything at all. The sounds of battle filtered into his mind distantly, and he slowly lowered Robin down to the ground, his hands turning into fists when he pulled them away from her. The demonic scream of a creature echoed in his ear, but he didn't react--not even when it was followed by the sound of gunfire and the metallic whoosh of a blade. Amon heard the sound of heavy boots crunching against the ground as they approached him, but still he did not move._

"_Amon?" a gruff voice demanded. Amon made no reaction. Dante did not respect his silent plea to be left alone, though, crouching down beside him and pulling Amon's head up by his hair. "What the fuck happened?" Dante's expression was fierce enough to penetrate the protective shell Amon had created around himself to dull the pain, and he finally focused on the half-demon's eyes, struggling to find a response. _

"_She--she's gone," he murmured._

_Dante's eyes darted down to look at Robin sorrow and dread contorting his features. "No," he whispered faintly, his hand hovering over her knee. "No, she can't be."_

_Looking past Dante, Amon saw Beatrice standing in profile against the roiling pillar of light, looking back at them with a victorious smile. Fury consumed him as he looked at her, and he suddenly knew what he needed to do. Rising to his feet slowly, his eyes were still focused on Beatrice though she had turned away, and he had already taken a step in her direction before he heard Dante screaming at him. _

"_Amon! Dammit, listen to me!" Dante grabbed him from behind, strong arms wrapping around his chest in a vice-like grip. "This is the last thing Robin would want you to do," Dante growled into his ear._

"_I'm going to kill her," Amon snarled, clawing at Dante's arms and trying to twist out of his grasp._

"_Take a look around, Amon. Beatrice has kept us so busy that we didn't even get near the ceremony before it was over. The door is already open, and Beatrice used Robin's power--and our power--to open it. She didn't even have to break a sweat. You think you're going to bring her down now?"_

_Kicking back at Dante's shins, Amon said, "I think I'm going to take her down with me."_

_Dante grunted in surprise as Amon elbowed him hard in the gut, and his grip eased just enough for Amon to twist his wrist brutally and slip out of his reach. Amon was running toward Beatrice a moment later, not even shifting his gaze to look at the witches that tried to step in his way, firing his orbo gun at them haphazardly as he sprinted toward the column of light and the demon who had taken Robin away from him._

-----------

"Guilty as charged." Zaizen's fist landed firmly against the arm of the throne.

Crouched in front of the throne, the whirlwind still roaring behind him, Amon looked up at Zaizen slowly. "I lost, didn't I?" he asked reluctantly, uncertain if he really wanted to know the answer. "I tried to kill Beatrice, but she killed me instead, didn't she?"

A smile gradually spread across Zaizen's face. "At least you're in good company."

"Answer my question!" Amon demanded, the roar of the tempest reaching a deafening pitch. "What happened? How did I get here?"

Zaizen did not respond at first, his expression coolly detached as he shifted an unfocused gaze to the darkness at his right. "When I attacked Beatrice with my new orbo, I thought that I had saved the world," he said, changing the topic without batting an eye at Amon's glare. "I thought I could destroy her and prove the worth of orbo to Solomon in one blow." He shifted his gaze back to Amon with a sour smile. "Then she revived, and one of her witches captured me. She said I would be a sacrifice, and I realized she meant to use me in her ritual to open a path to the demon world. I was horrified. But the ritual began, and she spilled the blood of the other sacrifices, but did not touch me. I allowed myself to hope that she didn't have a use for me--that I would be allowed to live."

Slowly, Zaizen leaned forward and rose from the throne. Stepping fully into the light for the first time, he said, "She used me, but not in the way I expected."

Amon gasped in revulsion when he saw the gory remains of Zaizen's body; half of his chest was missing, muscles and bone shattered and jutting out into the gaping hole where Zaizen's heart should have been. Doubling over as he felt bile rising in his throat and nausea sweeping over him, Amon turned away from the horrific sight. His stomach heaved and he bent over, his hands braced against the dusty ground as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

The winds of his craft tore at him, bringing the rest of his memories of the battle flooding back.

------------

_Amon clawed past the witches in his path, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Beatrice. Bellowing in pure rage as he leapt toward her, he watched her turn, but stumbled to a stop in horror when he heard the sound of a gunshot ring out, reverberating through the valley. The bullet ripped through the air toward her far faster than he could have moved; the aim was perfect, hitting her just left of the center of her chest, splintering on impact and tearing her flesh to shreds. _

_Amon was wordless with rage. He didn't know where the bullet had come from, but the way it had fractured when it hit indicated that it had not been shot by any of them. As far as he knew, Trish hadn't bought any ammo with that particular property, and he knew they didn't have bullets of that caliber at the STN-J. His eyes scanned the trees around the perimeter of the clearing, shock blinding him for a moment; whoever had deprived him of the satisfaction of killing Beatrice himself would be eternally sorry for their mistake. _

_He turned his attention back to Beatrice as she fell, her eyes widened to an impossible width and her mouth open in a soundless scream. But as she collapsed, half of her upper body gone, she underwent a metamorphosis. Her body changed, became older and masculine...and very familiar. Then, as the eyes of the ruined figure somehow found Amon in the chaos and focused one last glare on him, Amon recognized the dying man as Zaizen. _

_Beatrice's untouched form emerged from the nothingness of the air behind Zaizen's crumpled form a moment later, looking down at it sourly. "He was a poor puppet, anyway," she said, kicking his body over the edge of the abyss and into the inferno writhing below. "He served his purpose at least." Amon didn't know where to begin being angry; Beatrice was still alive, but Zaizen--the one person he wanted to torture to death even more than her--was dead and gone. _

_Beatrice shifted her gaze to him in surprise when he screamed in rage. He had barely moved a step when he heard Trish's voice cry out behind him. "Amon! Duck!" He didn't have time to react before he felt something very sharp cut an arc across his back. Pain erupted in his mind and he stumbled to one knee, black spots dancing across his vision. _

_An unearthly scream shattered the air and a ragged, skeletal figure bearing a scythe appeared before him, emerging from a cloud of darkness. Screaming again, it swung its sharp blade toward him and he could do nothing but watch the scythe plummet toward him, unable to move. Blond hair against black leather blurred across his vision and he squinted into the lightning surrounding the lithe figure he finally recognized as Trish. The creature screamed again and disappeared into another swirl of dark fog. _

_Trish knelt down next to him and pulled one of his arms over her slender shoulders. He cried out brokenly as the movement gave him the impression that his back had just ripped in two. "I'm all out of green orbs," she informed him flatly, pulling him out of the way of another scythe. _

"_It doesn't matter," Amon managed through clenched teeth, his gaze snapping back up to where Beatrice had been standing moments before. The figure he saw standing at the edge of the gate was not Beatrice._

"_This battle is over," the man said in a deep, silken voice. _

_Trish spun around, pulling Amon with her, though Amon thought she had nearly torn his arm from its socket as she did so. "Who the hell are you?" She snapped, glaring at the man._

_Amon had never been attracted to a man before, but this man was so beautiful he might have actually considered the possibility if it weren't for the hollow glint in his ashen eyes. Hair darker than night shadowed his pale, ghostly skin in feathered tendrils, hugging his sinewy neck. His clothing was as dark as his hair, but glistened in the macabre light of the glowing abyss pulsing behind him. "It's time for you to go," he said in that gossamer purr of a voice. _

"_We're not going anywhere," Trish growled, releasing pressure on Amon's arm. Amon had to fight to keep his balance as he realized she was freeing herself so she could fight._

_The man raised an eyebrow at her before shifting his attention to Amon. The very weight of his gaze made Amon's craft roar to life. He hadn't thought his craft had anything left, but it felt stronger than ever, the wind deafening him in its fervor. Trish immediately turned back to look at him in surprise when she felt his power detonate the air around them like a bomb. _

_Waving a hand dismissively, the strange man turned away and Amon's power choked off suddenly and completely. Trish supported him as he lost his balance, shocked by the sudden absence of his craft. When he looked up again, he saw Beatrice standing next to the man, gazing up at him in awe. "Master," she breathed._

_Glancing down at her, the man murmured, "I have something to attend to." He glanced at Amon and Trish, and Beatrice followed his gaze. "Take care of these for me."_

"_I will, Master," she cooed and Amon's need for revenge consumed his thoughts once again. The man glided away, his feet barely touching the ground as he walked, but Amon wasn't concerned with him; his eyes were focused completely on Beatrice as she turned to face them with a slow smile._

"_Do you have a plan?" Trish whispered to him._

"_Kill her," Amon spat._

_Chuckling under breath, Trish said, "Nice plan." She pressed one of her guns into his free hand and reached down, pulling a long knife out of a sheath in her boot. He fired off rounds of both normal bullets and orbo when he felt Trish leave his side, but the sickening crack of breaking bone made him pause. Trish's knife arm hung at her side, the bones twisted at an unnatural angle, but she had still managed to bury her knife in Beatrice's stomach. _

"_No need for that," Beatrice laughed, grabbing the hilt of the knife in a fist and flinging the blade back at Trish. Amon didn't get the chance to see if Trish had dodged the attack before a wave of heat accompanied by a burst of flame seared his skin and his vision clouded. He rushed toward the place where he had last seen Beatrice, but she was suddenly behind him, whispering in his ear. "You're not needed here anymore."_

_Amon cried out in pain when she dug her fingers into the wound on his back, caught off guard when she shoved him toward the boiling inferno of the door to the demon world. He stumbled and the hellhole rose up to swallow him. "No!" he screamed, turning and reaching for the distant, dark patch of starry sky he could see falling away from him as he plummeted into the chasm. As he watched, the opening contracted slowly, the night sky disappearing from view and Beatrice's figure at the edge of the gate along with it. Despair gripped his heart, but he could do nothing but watch as his world turned upside down and the sensation of falling began to feel very much like rising, as if he were soaring up into a sickening red and yellow sky. _

_He gasped in surprise when he felt fingernails dig into his arm suddenly, and he struggled to see past the chaos of color and light to make out the figure clinging to him. "Trish," he whispered faintly. _

"_Just hold on to me," she said, easing her grip on his forearm and hooking his arm around her waist. _

"_She closed the door," Amon said urgently. "We're trapped!"_

"_I know." Trish gripped his belt at the small of his back, her other arm hanging uselessly at her side. "But there's nothing we can do about that right now. Listen to me, Amon. You need to focus."_

_He looked down at her with a twinge of fear, hearing the gravity in her voice._

"_This gate leads to the demon world. As far as I know, no human has ever entered it while still alive, so I don't have a clue what it's going to do to you. You need to trust me. And don't let go of me, whatever you do." They were increasing in speed as they fell and Amon was starting to get dizzy. "Hold on," Trish repeated, but he was loosing consciousness fast. _

_Then the angry red light turned to black and Amon saw nothing more._

-----------

Amon was standing inside the whirlwind at the center of the pool of light, air roaring past his ears. "Where is Trish?" he demanded, but Zaizen could not hear him over the wind. "Why am I alone?"

Zaizen gripped his arm and stepped close to him, whispering in his ear. "You are alone because you have always been alone."

**about to strike: This is an obscure one for sure, but I'm mentioning it as much for myself as for anyone else. I didn't think of this when I first wrote it, but it certainly came to mind when I was rereading it. There's a ride at the local amusement park in my city called the Mamba, and the last thing the recording says before you get on the ride is to "Fasten your seatbelts because the Mamba is about to strike!" There's just something oh so cheesy about those recordings they play before you get on roller coasters that cracks me up...**

**Here we are at the end of the first chapter of the sequel. I know this is not really any less of a cliffhanger than the last chapter of Libera Me, and for that I apologize (while laughing evilly in my head). I had a lot of fun writing this one (could you tell?) because I absolutely love psychological introspective craziness. When I planned this chapter I hadn't expected to include any of Amon's distant past, but the strangely surreal scenes just slipped their way in anyway. **

**Let's see...a couple things... **

**First off, I had no idea that Zaizen would be played by John deLancie in this chapter, but it just happened. For anyone who is not a Star Trek: TNG fan (which might be all of you for all I know), I'm referring to the character that actor played on the Next Generation: Q. Zaizen had a very Q-like quality in this chapter, though I didn't see it coming before I started writing. Not that I'm complaining. Q is awesome. At least he didn't say, "What a pity," though or it would have been too obvious.**

**Secondly, you should all be happy now. I killed Zaizen. Hee hee hee... but I couldn't just leave him "dead" though, could I? And does everyone appreciate the irony that the Hermit's bullet ended up being the one that killed Zaizen? (Hope that made sense to people.)**

**Thirdly, I know you're all wondering about Robin. Hahahahaha. Oh, I mean... Yes, it's very serious indeed. Robin seems to be quite dead. But things are not always exactly what they seem--just look at Zaizen's crazy ass. **

**And last of all, some of you might have wondered why Amon got no POV in the last chapter of Libera Me. Well, after reading this Amonlicious, all Amon all the time chapter... Now you know. And knowing's half the battle. GI JOE!**


	2. Last One Out's a Rotten Egg

**Author's Note: Well, here you go. This chapter should clear up at least a few of your burning questions. I had way too much fun writing Dante in this chapter. And, I apologize to anyone who is offended by cursing…I'll be taking full advantage of the higher rating in this story as it progresses--in more than one way. **

**Chapter Two**

**Last One Out's a Rotten Egg**

Dante was used to fighting an endless barrage of demon spawn--it was what he did for a living, after all--but even he was beginning to tire of the damned things, especially when they were so intent on keeping him from his goal.

Dante had taken off after Amon as soon as the foolish man managed to wriggle from his grasp, but he hadn't gotten more than five steps before a couple of hell vanguards materialized in his path, shrieking and waving their scythes around tauntingly. He considered calling after Amon over their headsets before remembering that his own headset was long gone, lying somewhere in the field among the crushed nobodies.

Growling in annoyance, Dante drove forward with his sword, impaling one of the vanguards as his boots skidded to a stop in the dirt. The creature vanished in a cloud of smoke as it teleported out of reach. A cackling scream erupted behind him a moment later, and he rolled to the side and jumped out of the path of a scythe. "C'mon bastards," he said, mocking the creatures with a gesture one would use to call a dog. "That the best you can do?"

As if in reply, one of the vanguards evaporated into a dark cloud, and Dante leapt out of the way when he heard the scythe whipping through the air toward him. He targeted the creature with his guns and bathed it in bullets on his way back down to the ground. The other vanguard was on the move as well, and he swung Alastor toward it viciously, parrying the attacks of the vanguard's scythe twice before he lunged forward with his blade again, stabbing repeatedly into the demon's skeletal innards.

Another scream below him was all the warning he had before the first vanguard came spinning upward out of the ground. He rolled to the side quickly, narrowly avoiding the creature's sharp blade, but inadvertently stepping directly into the path of another attack. A sudden jolt of pain sent him stumbling backward and the creature took advantage of his weakness with another swing of its scythe.

A roar of frustration escaped his lips as he sprang back to his feet, arching his back and launching himself off the ground with his hands. Reaching for Alastor, he swung the blade upward, grazing the grass along the way as he sliced through the vanguard several times in a crisscrossing pattern, sighing in relief when the demon finally disintegrated into nothingness.

Finishing off the other creature in a similar way, Dante immediately returned his focus to the gate to the demon world. Trish had joined Amon in facing off against Beatrice, and judging by the way Amon was leaning against her, he needed her support to simply remain standing. Dante threw a glance over his shoulder as he realized that the jolt of pain he felt might not have been his own. A cursory examination of his coat confirmed his suspicion; he had been feeling Amon's pain through their connection, which meant Amon was already wounded--and wounded fairly badly judging by the level of pain.

The realization brought another thought to Dante's mind as he considered the fact that he was still connected to Amon though Robin was no longer part of the triumvirate. Hesitating before taking off for the gate, he glanced back to where he had left Robin and gasped when he saw the dark figure standing over her.

Torn between protecting Robin's lifeless body and lending support to Trish and Amon, Dante considered his options quickly. He felt mildly assured that Amon wouldn't do anything too terribly stupid with Trish at his side, though he doubted the man could accomplish little more than his own destruction in his current state anyway. And Dante didn't exactly like the thought of Trish taking on Beatrice practically by herself either.

He had nearly decided to join them in fighting Beatrice, trying to convince himself that there was nothing left for him to do for Robin and that his living companions needed his help more than she did. But he found himself turning his back on the gate a moment later, unable to bring himself to leave her despite all the logical reasons to do so. He had always felt logic was rather overrated anyway; instinct tended to rule most of his decisions and with the exception of a few failures, it had guided him rather well.

The demon crouching next to Robin's body was no lowly hell spawn--he absolutely reeked of power. His features were somewhat androgynous, his wild hairstyle and the gothic contrast of pale skin against black clothes reminiscent of a tragic pop star. Something about him seemed familiar, but Dante couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Reaching a delicate, long-fingered hand toward Robin, the demon closed his eyes, dark lashes fluttering against his skin, and Dante decided he had seen enough.

"Hey, necrophiliac!" Dante shouted, pressing Alastor's tip against the demon's neck; the demon didn't even flinch. "There are plenty of dead bodies around here. How about you choose a different one?"

The demon looked up at Dante slowly, his dark, striking features set with an expression that made it clear he was used to being in control. "I have no wish to fight you," the man said smoothly, his voice so silken it seemed to slide over Dante's mind in a caress.

"Yeah?" Dante forced a smirk. "Why's that? 'Cause you know you'll lose?"

The demon did not reply, his expression unchanging, though his eyes were colder than a winter day in an icy tundra. Suddenly Dante knew who the demon reminded him of, and the realization pissed him off; it had been years since anyone had reminded him so vividly of his brother, and he didn't need the reminder.

Dante sighed shortly. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but I don't like you already. And I'm in a really bad mood, so I suggest you step aside before I made you into pâté."

"Brave, but foolish words, son of Sparda," the demon replied finally, a slow, bitter smile crossing his expressive lips. "You are just as obtuse as your father, I see."

Rolling his eyes, Dante said, "So you're one of _those_ types, hm? Why do you baddies always have to bring _that_ guy into it? Do you think I feel angst over his death? Do you think I really give two shits about how he pissed on your demon parade all those years ago?"

The demon's smile widened, though his eyes were like vacant caverns, emotionless and cold. "Sparda was a traitor in every sense of the word, but to be honest, I'm over his betrayal. I'm a traitor myself, after all." His eyes narrowed as he pressed his palm against Alastor and pushed the blade away firmly. "Stay out of my way and I might let you live."

"Hah!" Dante shook his head and swept Alastor in a tight arc away from the demon's touch and back toward the other side of the demon's neck, slicing through a few dark strands of hair along the way. "That's my line. You really are full of yourself, aren't you? Let me guess… you must be Beatrice's beloved master."

"Beatrice…" the man echoed with a soft, enigmatic chuckle. "I am much more than that." To Dante's surprise, the demon reached back to grip the blade again, nearly wrenching it out of Dante's grasp as he rose to his feet and pulled hard on the sword. Caught off guard, Dante stumbled forward, catching himself a moment before he ended up in the demon's arms. Alastor hummed with electricity between them, but the sparks never seemed to reach the demon gripping the middle of the blade, dancing around his fingertips but never touching that pale skin. Looking down his nose at Dante, the demon hissed, "I am the master of all demons… including you."

"Great," Dante managed without betraying the hint of fear racing through him. "Nice to meet you. Shall we dance?"

"As I said before, I have no wish to fight you here. I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Perfect. So am I."

The demon's gaze shifted to something just behind Dante, and he frowned. "Foolish humans. What do they think _that's_ going to accomplish?"

Dante refused to look at first, assuming the demon was merely creating a diversion, but he couldn't help but shift his attention when the earth began to rumble beneath his feet and the roar of what sounded like a low flying aircraft exploded in his ears. He half turned back toward the gate, only to find it swiftly closing, Beatrice's figure silhouetted against the dying light of the opening. That was weird. Why was she letting it close already? For the first time since beginning his hunt for Beatrice, he considered the possibility that she hadn't been planning on opening a permanent link between the two worlds at all. But why would she go through so much trouble just to open a doorway for a few minutes?

His confusion gave way to concern a moment later when he searched the area urgently and found no sign of either Trish or Amon. "Shit," he hissed, realizing that he could no longer feel Amon at all. _And if Amon's gone, then…_

"I suggest you take cover." The silken voice was starting to sound a lot like fingernails on a chalkboard to Dante.

Whirling back to face the demon, Dante opened his mouth to reply, but froze when he saw the demon gazing upward with an expression of expectation, his shoulders set as if he were preparing for an attack. Dante found himself following the demon's gaze without thinking. The storm clouds were deteriorating above them as the door to the demon world closed, revealing stars and the gentle glow of the moon…and something else. A dark shape was soaring through the sky above, but it was too geometrical a shape to be anything organic.

A split second later, the world erupted in blinding light, a deafening blast quickly following the glow along with a shockwave that sent him stumbling backward, his grip on Alastor loosening. At first he thought that the demon had taken the opportunity to attack him when he was distracted, but he quickly realized that the attack was coming from the dark shape he had seen in the sky, an aircraft of some sort.

Dante turned, hearing the shrieking sound of more bombs following the first, exploding in vivid fireballs across the clearing. His feet might as well have been chained to the ground since he certainly wasn't moving despite the fact that the explosions were heading toward him in a haphazard line. He knew he couldn't outrun them. So he stood immobile, the surreality of the situation throwing him completely off his game.

His eyes cast about for some form of shelter before the destruction hit, but there was no place to hide. A smirk touched his lips as the irony struck him. "Not even a rock, huh? Guess I _must_ be a sinner, after all," he murmured, glaring at the approaching damnation.

Another thunderous blast exploded above him and he winced, preparing himself for the pain. But the only thing he felt was the urgent touch of delicate hands as they grasped his arms firmly and pushed him down to the ground. A warm glow enveloped him and a nearly insubstantial weight settled on top of him, somehow shielding him from the assault. The sound of explosions dimmed to a distant thunder and a strange peacefulness he couldn't quite explain settled over him; for the moment, he was simply content to be safe, and found that an explanation was unnecessary.

His mouth went dry as he gazed up at the dazzling light above him with something close to awe--which was actually rather extraordinary since he had never been reverent of anything in his life. He squinted into the light, trying to make out the visage of his savior, but he couldn't see anything past the radiance. Tentatively, he reached out to touch the luminous being--as if to verify the figure was real and not merely a hallucination--and he felt long, silken strands of hair and a slender waist. His eyes widened.

Either his eyes were adjusting to the brightness or the glow was fading, because he was finally able to see the youthful, heart-shaped face hovering above him. "Robin?" he whispered faintly.

Dante felt a thrill of fear looking at Robin with her humanity stripped away and this ethereal, otherworldly power showing through, forgetting for the moment to even be surprised by the fact that she was still alive. Robin's green eyes were bright like melting emeralds and her pale skin was iridescent, radiating pure white light. Quite simply, she looked like an angel.

The memory of one of his brief conversations with Juliano came back to him suddenly, and he remembered something the old priest had said about Robin--that her power was greater than she knew, perhaps greater than any of them should ever find out. Was the transformation Dante was witnessing what Juliano had meant? Or was this something else entirely…?

----------

Karasuma stared at the explosions of light filling the screen, her chest constricting with horror. She could feel Michael's accusatory eyes on her and she quickly stammered to explain. "No, I--this isn't what I was talking about. This…I don't know who's doing this."

"What _were_ you talking about, Karasuma-san?" Michael asked coldly, and she finally tore her eyes away from the monitor to look at him.

Fear crept into her mind as she realized the destruction they were witnessing could, in fact, be her fault after all. She had heard stories of the Hermit's unpredictability. Could he have changed the plan without telling her? She couldn't answer Michael's question until she knew for certain.

Opening her cell phone again, she redialed the Hermit's number and pressed the phone against her ear, praying that the little British bastard would pick up the phone. Michael was watching her with narrowed eyes, but she couldn't blame him for his anger.

The call finally connected on the sixth ring, and to Karasuma's relief, did not respond with a voice mail greeting. "Bloody brilliant!" the Hermit screamed into the phone over chaotic bursts of background noise. Karasuma pulled the phone away from her ear enough to dull the sharp edge of his voice. "Whose idea was it to nuke the whole bloody place?"

Karasuma exhaled the breath she had been holding in relief. "I don't know," she replied quietly.

The Hermit didn't respond immediately, but when he did reply his voice had dropped into a serious tone. "You thought I was the one responsible, didn't you?"

"I thought it was a possibility, yes." Karasuma glanced at Michael who was still watching her intently, though the severity of his expression had softened somewhat. She realized that the volume of the Hermit's voice made their conversation far from private.

"Your confidence is overwhelming," the Hermit said dryly. "Though I suppose the lack is partly justified."

Karasuma felt a thrill of fear rush down her spine. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't exactly succeed."

"What happened?" Karasuma demanded, beginning to pace in front of Michael's desk.

"I took my shot--it was perfect, dead center, right through the heart. Problem is, it didn't hit the demon's heart. She used some old guy as her body double and the illusion didn't fade until the shot had already hit."

Karasuma froze. "Old guy?"

"Yeah, grey hair, wrinkles, the whole bit. Doesn't matter though. From what I could tell before I hightailed it out of there, Beatrice got her due when the bombs hit; she was at ground zero."

"So she's dead?"

"Seems that way." There was a rustle on the other end of the line. "Listen," he said softly, "I've got to go. There are some guys wandering around the woods with machine guns, probably looking for survivors. I'll give you a full report later."

Listening to the dial tone, Karasuma stood in stunned disbelief for a moment before closing her phone and returning her attention to Michael. He had shifted his gaze back to the monitor, looking at a soft, steady glow near the bottom of the screen. The explosions had stopped, but smaller dots were slowly approaching the area through the woods to the north.

"So, what was that about an old guy?" Michael asked quietly without looking away from the screen. Karasuma was mildly surprised that he hadn't asked who she had been talking to first. "Do you think it was the Boss?"

Shaking her head, Karasuma replied. "I don't know. Maybe." Michael shifted his attention back to her, his expression unreadable though she had a good idea of what was going on in his mind. She wished that she had been a little more discreet about her connection to the Hermit. "Listen, Michael…"

"It's okay." Michael shrugged. "I don't know exactly who that guy was or why you hired a sniper to take out Beatrice, but I can tell by the look on your face that you aren't going to tell me even if I ask."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"I'm used to secrets. And anyway, it seems like you have good intentions, whatever your reasons."

Karasuma felt some of the tension drain out of her. "You won't tell the others?"

Michael flinched. "If there's anyone left to tell." The very suggestion sent a wave of despair crashing over Karasuma.

"We should try to find out." The headsets had been patchy during the entirety of the battle, and no one had responded to them for quite some time, so Karasuma didn't even consider using them to make contact. If anyone had survived, they would have to contact them through their cell phones; though she was almost afraid to call any of them at all for fear that it would only confirm that they were gone.

Finally, Karasuma overcame her fear and dialed Amon's cell phone. It immediately went to voicemail "There's no answer," she said sadly, hanging up on the strange voicemail greeting before it could finish.

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Michael said quickly. "What if they're unconscious, or hiding from those soldiers?"

"Can you track Amon's cell phone?" she asked, stepping closer to him and watching the points of light moving across the screen.

"Sure," Michael replied, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of the idea himself. She couldn't follow his actions as he brought up various windows and input a variety of commands, his fingers flying over the keys. Finally, an error message appeared and real anxiety settled into the pit of her stomach. "No such signal?" Michael read the message doubtfully. "That can't be. Even if the cell phone's off, I should be able to find it."

"Unless it's been destroyed," Karasuma said sadly.

Michael glanced at her, a look of determination on his face; she could tell he was still in denial, but she was beginning to admit the truth to herself. "That still doesn't mean he's necessarily dead," he affirmed. "He might have lost the phone in the battle and it got destroyed."

"Michael…" Karasuma was uncertain how to finish that sentence, a lump swelling in her throat. "We have to accept the possibility that--"

"We should try everyone else's phones," Michael said quickly, interrupting her and returning his attention to the computer. Karasuma watched him with a frown, but didn't say a word.

----------

"Sakaki, just get in the car." Doujima sighed, staring at her white-knuckled hands as they gripped the top of the steering wheel.

"Why should I?" Sakaki glared at her through the open door on the other side of the car. She had never seen Sakaki so serious--or so angry--before. The flash of fury in his eyes actually frightened her.

Doujima shifted her gaze to look at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Because they're going to scour the area for survivors soon and we don't want to be here when they do."

"Blowing the place up wasn't enough?" Sakaki scoffed. "What about everyone else? If they survived the inferno they won't live through this. We have to contact them!" He paused, shaking his head as his scowl deepened. "Or are you under orders not to do that either?"

"Just get in the car…please."

Sakaki's palm slammed against the edge of the roof and the car swayed slightly. "I came with you. I trusted you, and we left everyone else behind. And now they're all probably…"

"Don't say it!" Doujima snapped, tears blurring her vision. "I didn't have any choice."

"I can't understand that! How could you not have a choice? There's always a choice!"

"I told you already. I was under orders. Now get in the damn car!"

"Since when do you follow anyone's orders?"

Sighing again, Doujima rested her forehead against her hands on the steering wheel. "I'm not who you think I am, Haruto."

"Yeah, you already told me that much. You're a traitor."

"It's not like that, Haruto," she whispered. Despite her mission at the STN-J and the objectivity she had been forced to always maintain on some level, she had become fond of Haruto--fonder than she should have allowed herself to become. It had been difficult for many reasons to tell him the truth. The fact that she was under strict orders to hide her true purpose was not the least of those reasons, but it was not the one that was still bothering her. Hearing him refer to her as a traitor hurt far deeper than it should have. Seeing the betrayal in his eyes stung. She looked up at him again. "I betrayed Zaizen, but not you."

Sakaki bristled. "You betrayed Amon. And Robin. And Dante and Trish."

A sound escaped her lips, somewhere between a bitter laugh and a half sob. Swallowing her tears, Doujima looked away from his anger. "I couldn't save them all."

"You could have warned them."

"And tipped off Beatrice? The attack was meant to make certain she would not survive. If I had warned them it would have jeopardized the entire mission."

"The mission?" Doujima cringed at the pain in Sakaki's voice. "We're talking about people here--about _friends_. At least they were my friends. I don't know what they were to you."

"They were my friends too, Sakaki," she retorted, clenching the steering wheel. "Solomon had tuned into the frequency of our headsets anyway. They would have heard me warn them."

"And they ordered you not to warn them, didn't they? What about me? Surely they didn't order you to rescue me?"

Doujima shook her head numbly. "No. They didn't. But I think they will overlook it since saving you didn't alert Beatrice to the danger. That's all they were concerned about. Solomon may be ruthless at times, but they didn't _want_ to kill any of us. They gave us a chance to destroy Beatrice on our own, but when she opened the door they must have decided to take matters into their own hands."

"Then you knew it was a possibility all along, didn't you?"

Shifting her gaze back to Sakaki, Doujima sighed for what must have been the hundredth time since they had escaped from the battleground. "Yes."

"And you didn't say anything." Sakaki's voice was pitched low in warning and she didn't particularly want to find out what it was warning her about.

"Listen, Haruto…I'm not saying that I did everything right. I probably screwed up, okay? I can see that now. Despite what you think you know about me, I _do_ follow orders for the most part. And though I occasionally question them, I don't often disobey them. Headquarters knows a lot more about what's going on than I do, so I trust their opinion on things that concern the wellbeing of the world. Tonight was about more than a few people, after all. If we had allowed Beatrice to succeed in opening a path between her world and ours, millions of people would die. I didn't want to sacrifice anyone, but the decision was not mine to make."

"So you're just going to wash your hands of it then?" Sakaki pushed himself away from the car, an expression of disgust twisting his features. "I guess I really don't know you at all." He turned his back on her, and she could see his hand trembling on the door. "My bike is around here somewhere. I'll find my own way."

Desperation grabbed her heart and twisted it painfully; she needed him to not hate her, though she didn't know why she needed it so badly. "Sakaki." He paused, waiting to hear her out. "We don't know that they're dead. They're resourceful. They might have survived."

He shifted his weight onto his opposite foot, but didn't walk away. "If they could have survived this, then so could have Beatrice. Where does that leave your argument, then?"

"I don't know," she answered quietly.

"Then I don't know why I should ever trust you again."

The door slammed and the car rocked slightly, but Doujima didn't really notice. She was too busy watching the crackling flames of the burning bridge crumbling behind her.

----------

Slowly, the blazing light surrounding them faded, though Robin was still glowing faintly. "Robin," Dante said again, more confidently this time. "I thought we'd lost you, babe." She did not respond, her gaze looking through him rather than at him, and he realized she was not entirely aware of her surroundings. A twinge of fear shot through him and he wondered if that demon had done something to her; brought her back to life to serve him or turned her into some kind of zombie.

Attempting to sit up with her still on top of him, Dante pushed himself up on his elbows, gazing at the desolation around them with wide eyes. The field was razed to the dirt and the carcasses were nothing more than charred lumps scattered across the black ground. Flames licked at the trees around the perimeter of the clearing, and Dante remembered his comment to Robin about forest fires with a frown. The place where Beatrice had opened the gate was now a crater in the earth. Whoever had been behind the attack had been very thorough.

"We need to get out of here, kiddo," Dante said quietly, realizing that whoever had bombed the ever-loving hell out of the place was likely to drop in and make sure everything demonic had been utterly destroyed.

"An excellent plan," a velvety voice said from behind them. Apparently the attackers hadn't been thorough enough. "But I'm afraid the Eve will be leaving with me."

Dante turned to see Beatrice's master standing amid the chaos unscathed, looking hungrily at Robin as if she were a treat to be devoured. Pulling Robin close to him protectively though he was no longer certain if she even needed his protection, Dante said, "You'd better start making sense real fast, Romeo, or I'm going to rip that smug expression off your face."

"You don't even know what she is," the demon observed coldly.

"I don't know what you are either, but that's not stopping me from having a stupid conversation with you," Dante retorted, managing to crawl to his knees without releasing Robin. She was still staring at him blankly and her lethargy was beginning to really worry him. Reaching for Alastor, he remembered with a sickening sensation that he had dropped the sword when the attack began.

"You really are dense, aren't you?" A faint, shadowy aura rose from the demon's skin, and something about the tiny curls of sinister violet-black flame made Dante's skin crawl. Unexpectedly, a pair of wings unfolded behind the demon with a rush of air, black feathers scattering around them like macabre rain. The demon took a step toward him and his dark eyes seemed to expand, drawing Dante into them with an undeniable magnetism. Dante felt the breath die in his lungs, air rattling out of his throat like a dying man's last gasp.

Dante was unsure if the demon had crossed the distance between them or if he had crossed it himself, but the demon was now close enough for Dante to feel his breath when he spoke. "I am a fallen angel," the demon said so softly that Dante had to struggle to hear his words though he was only inches away. "The first fallen angel, in fact. I was once known as Lucifer."

Dante felt those small hands grip his arms again, and the sensation of Robin's fingertips was enough to bring him back to himself. Shaking his head to clear it, Dante wondered absently what the hell had just happened. He couldn't remember how long he had been standing there in the demon's thrall, and his inability to fully recall that time unsettled him greatly. He remembered only enough to recall the name the demon had claimed was his; he wasn't sure if he could believe the claim, but whoever the demon was, he was absurdly powerful enough to inspire Dante to call him whatever the fuck he wanted to be called.

"Lucifer, huh? 'Light-bearer.' Right. As I recall, you've had a few names since then."

Lucifer sighed with unexpected weariness, and Dante wondered just how much it had taken out of the demon to shield himself from the explosions. That thought was immediately followed by the realization that the bastard had completely overwhelmed him with power when he wasn't even at full strength. "I have been imprisoned between our worlds for a very long time. My name no longer matters. Only my purpose."

"And that purpose includes Robin?"

Regarding Robin coldly, Lucifer replied, "Yes. The Eve's powers would be most useful to me." Dante didn't have a clue why Lucifer insisted on calling Robin "the Eve," but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out at the moment either--he was still too busy absorbing the fact that she was still alive.

Dante glanced at Robin, noting that her face was still expressionless and her eyes entirely vacant, though the aura radiating from her sparked at Lucifer's words. "I don't think she's that into you, Lucy." Diving for Alastor when he finally spotted it on the ground beside Lucifer, Dante rolled to his feet and leveled his sword at the demon, summoning his most absurdly arrogant grin and hoping Lucifer would buy his unspoken bluff. "Maybe you can settle for being her pen pal--though last I checked the post office wasn't making deliveries to hell."

Lucifer shifted his gaze back to Dante, the chilling affects of his power still enough to send a shiver down Dante's spine. "You don't intimidate easily," he said blandly.

"I've fought a lot of things uglier than you," Dante said truthfully, though he had to admit Lucifer creeped him out quite a bit more than anything he had faced before.

A small smile curved Lucifer's lips. "But you don't want to fight me." Something about his tone of voice made Dante's brain hurt. His grip loosened ever so slightly and the tip of his sword dropped a few inches.

"Enough with the Jedi mind tricks," Dante snapped. Lucifer's eyes narrowed in confusion at Dante's reference, and Dante took the opportunity to attack, lunging forward with a growl. Alastor swept through the air without meeting resistance, and Dante slid to a stop.

Now standing several feet away, Lucifer regarded him with an almost pitying expression. "Is it your habit to hurl yourself at opponents even when you are obviously unable to match their power? It is a wonder you have survived so long."

Shrugging, Dante retorted, "What can I say? I've built up a lot of good karma over the years." Surging forward again, Dante swung Alastor toward Lucifer desperately.

This time, Lucifer did not move. Instead, he held up a hand, and Dante's sword met an impenetrable wall of air--at least that was how it seemed. Dante's muscles were trembling with the effort to push his blade past the invisible barrier, but they could also have been trembling with the effort of fighting against themselves. Dante decided he'd rather believe that Lucifer had merely created a shield and not actually gained control over Dante's body.

Dante's belief in his own control disappeared a moment later when Lucifer flicked a finger and Alastor slipped from his grasp. Lucifer took a step toward him and Dante could do nothing but watch as the demon picked up Alastor easily; normally the blade would have retaliated against anyone who touched it other than it's master, but it didn't even spark once in defiance in Lucifer's hands.

Regarding the blade with a frown, Lucifer said quietly, "You must be a very poor judge of character indeed to choose such an unworthy master. It is time to end your suffering." Dante blinked in surprise when he realized Lucifer was actually talking to the sword. Lucifer's gaze was devastatingly cold when he looked back at Dante. "Destroy your master and I will let you go free."

The blade sparked in either outrage or glee--he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to find out which--as Lucifer flung it at Dante, burying itself to the hilt. Alastor did not explode with energy as Dante had expected it to do once it had torn through his chest. Instead, the sword remained strangely silent. Then, a familiar voice whispered in Dante's mind. _He may have power over me, but you are still my master._ Alastor rarely spoke to him, but Dante recognized the demon's voice immediately.

Swallowing his scream of pain, Dante fell to one knee, and snarled up at Lucifer as he gripped the blade and pulled it out of his body in a series of painful jerks. "Guess he still likes me."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Foolish demon. He underestimates me."

"Dante!" the broken cry startled Dante out of his haze of pain. Blinking in surprise, he found Robin standing between him and Lucifer, her skin radiating enough light to counteract the dark cloud emanating from the demon. Robin's gaze was finally lucid. She glanced back at him and he struggled to his feet, planting Alastor's tip in the charred earth and leaning on the blade for support. Her hand hovered over the wound in his chest, her eyes wide with concern.

"It's okay, babe," he murmured, catching her hand to stop its frantic dance. "I'll heal."

"Her powers have still not been entirely realized, I see," Lucifer said, drawing Dante's attention back to him though the demon's gaze was fixed warily on Robin. "It's just as well. I'm not truly ready for her yet either."

"Who…who are you?" Robin asked quietly, and Dante didn't need his connection to her to know she was disoriented and desperately confused.

Lucifer tensed and he looked at the shadows around them suddenly. "I have no more time to trifle with you." His gaze returned to Dante, ashen eyes narrowing. "I will entrust the Eve to you for the moment. Take good care of her."

Dante gaped at him, amazed by his gall as well as his sudden change in attitude. "Yeah, no problem," he snapped. Lucifer turned to leave, gliding away over the charred ground. "So, where are you going, Lucy?

Without turning around or pausing, Lucifer replied, "I suggest you concern yourself with your missing companions…before there's no longer a point in looking for them at all." Dante's eyes widened, but Lucifer stepped into the shadows and disappeared.

"Dante, what happened?" He could feel Robin's eyes on him and her panicked heartbeat through his touch on her wrist, but he didn't know where to begin answering her. "Who was that man? Where's everyone else?"

"Master!" a weak, terrified cry from the direction of the crater saved Dante from answering. Beatrice--or what remained of her--was attempting to claw her way out of the hollow, her skin burnt nearly black and crumbling around her as she moved. "Master! Don't leave me."

Lucifer's last words had sparked Dante's worry, and he found himself already striding toward the crater, Robin following behind him in confusion. His eyes searched the area for any sign of Trish, Amon or any of the other hunters, but he found none. His gaze finally settled on Beatrice, his eyes narrowing. "What did you do to them?"

A soft laugh rattled out of Beatrice's broken throat. "Why should I tell you anything?"

"You want to see your master again, don't you?" Dante pressed Alastor lightly against her chest.

"You can't bring him back to me," Beatrice said petulantly.

"And you can't _see_ him again without eyes. So start talking."

Glaring at him, her hands clawing at the ashes beneath her, she whimpered, "You're cruel."

"_I'm_ cruel? Honey, this kettle's nowhere near as black as you. So spill it. Where are they?"

"Where are they?" Beatrice cackled. "I could have killed them easily, but they wouldn't have been worth my effort. So, I did as my master wished and pushed them through the door to our homeland. You know what will happen to them there, don't you, dear Dante? Which of Mundus' beloved servants do you think will give them a guided tour? They still hold a grudge against you and Trish, as you know… I expect they will be eager to take the misery of their master's defeat out on her." Dante had gone cold at Beatrice's words, but beyond his own fear he could feel Robin's trembling beside him.

Struggling to her knees, Beatrice continued, "And that human… I wonder what will become of him in the underworld. Could a living human soul survive the horrors of that place without becoming trapped there forever? It is meant to be a place of eternal punishment for the damned souls of humans, after all."

"Dante," Robin clutched at his sleeve. "What is she saying? Is Amon…?"

Dante ignored her. "Hm. So they're in hell. Thanks for the info, though you would do well to shorten your stories a bit. I don't need an epic poem, just the facts," he said with a cocky smile, clinging to his self-confidence to keep from letting his anxiety show. "It's too bad your beloved master doesn't have a use for you anymore. Especially after you went to so much effort to free him and all."

"Shut up!"

"He's a pretty ungrateful bastard, if you ask me."

"Stop it!"

"Guess he left you all on your own now."

"Stop saying those things. The master will return for me! He needs me!"

"Yeah," Dante snarled. "He needs you like I need another fucking twisted sibling."

Beatrice leapt for him and Dante made quick work of her with a thrust of his blade through her heart. She gaped at him in surprise, giving one last, wide-eyed scream before her form disintegrated, the cry echoing through the night.

"Dante," Robin murmured beside him, and he saw her sway on her feet in his peripheral vision. Catching her against him quickly, he looked down at her in concern as the glow enveloping her slowly faded. "I can't…stay awake…any longer."

"Just lean on me, babe," he murmured with a sad smile, returning Alastor to its place on his back and scooping Robin up into his arms. Though she was unconscious, their connection did not disappear as it had before and the quiet hum of her in his mind reassured him that she was only asleep and not dead.

Ignoring the weary complaint of his muscles, he jogged across the dismal landscape and paused in a patch of shadows at the edge of the clearing when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The sound of heavy footsteps crunching over the burnt grass sounded hollow in the eerie silence. The sight of anonymous figures dressed in full body armor and armed with some heavy-duty weaponry completed the uncanny picture, and Dante was beginning to feel like he had just walked onto the set of a sci-fi thriller.

But he had to admit, this certainly wasn't the first time he'd felt that way. And, unless his instincts were wrong, this wouldn't be the last time either. In his line of work, crazy locations and creepy enemies were just part of the job description. Ugly demons with more body parts than should have been necessary? Piece of cake. Supernatural baddies? No problem. Satan, the daddy of Mundus and the king of hell? Bring him on.

As Trish had been so kind to point out to him on multiple occasions, Dante survived most of his battles on pure, arrogant stubbornness alone.

** No hiding place: There's a gospel song about a sinner on judgment day that goes something like this: "I went to the rock to hide my face, but the rock cried out no hiding place." I used the reference partially because of a Babylon 5 episode which used this song in a very dramatic and awesome way. I also enjoy Nina Simone's version of this song and used it for a Devil May Cry music video I made a while back, so it has some extra significance for me.**

**I so told you that Robin would survive. And boy did she ever survive. If Amon thought he was outmatched with her before, hoo boy… It was also bizarre writing Sakaki/Doujima angst--and absolutely no video game or television references. How can this be? **

**I'm really curious to hear what people think of Lucifer. I originally intended to base him loosely on Kira's previous form from Angel Sanctuary (because I have a major crush on that boy at the moment) but I don't know that he's really anything like him at all. Which is just fine… so long as he's still interesting. I really hope he isn't as cheesy as Beatrice. I was so tired of writing about her cheesy ass (I know, I know, I created her and all). But I think we can all agree that it was about time she bit the dust. ;)**

**One last thing, while I get a kick out of you people's threats for me to update, it kind of irks me a bit when I keep getting threatened without any consideration to the fact that I uploaded _two_ chapters at once last time. That's double the pleasure, double the fun, guys. And double the writing! So, though I appreciate people's interest and understand that I'm not completely trustworthy in my updating after my year and a half break escapade, please cut me a little slack. ;) I'm mostly saying this because I spent last weekend writing about twenty pages of stuff for this very story. None of it is in this chapter because it will take me a few chapters to write up to it, but you do realize what this means don't you? I'm really into where the story is going and so you needn't worry about me running out of ideas or quitting any time soon.**

**I also did a little writing on a separate Devil May Cry story recently and I hope to upload it sometime soon. Now, once again, I don't want to hear any whining because I updated this story first and I just told you I've written more on this one already, so no threats please. :) But please do review. **


	3. Can't Talk to a Psycho

**Author's Note: I've been looking forward to this chapter. Hope you enjoy it as much as I have. I just love crazy psychological stuff... Hope I managed to describe it in an interesting fashion (and hope it makes sense). It's a long one, so enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

**Can't Talk to a Psycho Like a Normal Human Being**

"What are you doing, Amon?"

Ignoring Zaizen, Amon continued walking, sidestepping the large chunks of broken columns and marble frieze littering the dismal landscape. He had been walking in a straight line. He was sure of it. The dark, chaotic landscape was always changing, though the dim, undefined horizon remained untouched, always just beyond visual clarity and just out of reach.

Zaizen's polished shoes crunched over shards of broken glass as he caught up to Amon. "You're wasting your time."

"My time is mine to waste." Amon was growing weary of Zaizen's companionship, and even wearier of his own directionless wandering. He wasn't getting anywhere. A column of light had just coalesced into being out of the formless void on the horizon as Amon stepped out of the shadow of yet another freestanding lump of masonry. He frowned--though it would have probably been more accurate to say his frown deepened since he had been frowning already.

"Home sweet home," Zaizen announced with a small, irritating smile.

After glancing back over his shoulder at the unbroken horizon behind him, Amon returned his gaze to the pool of light ahead and started walking again. As he approached the light, he saw the familiar bulk of the stone throne and the whirling torrent of energy. He _had_ been walking in a straight line, but somehow, once again, his steps had led him back to his starting point. Either he was traversing a very small planet or he was not in his right mind. Considering the fact that he was strolling through this ruined landscape with a dead man, he was inclined to believe the latter.

"Getting frustrated yet? Hm?"

Amon's feet were aching obnoxiously from all the walking and the wound on his back was beginning to compel more and more of his attention with its sharp, throbbing pain. He eyed the stone throne with a thoughtful expression, considering sitting down and taking his weight off his feet for a moment, but he was still too restless. Before he could reconsider, Zaizen took the seat for himself, settling comfortably on the stone with a sigh.

"I don't know why you continue to fight against the inevitable. There's no way out." Zaizen shrugged. "And what's the point, anyway? What do you really have to return to in the human world? Your little fire witch is gone, the STN-J is in shambles with my absence, and that half-demon has probably already taken over leadership completely by this point. You don't have a place there anymore. It would be better to just give up."

Shifting narrowed eyes toward Zaizen, Amon clenched his hands into fists. "Where is Trish?" he demanded, returning to his habitual litany.

Predictably, Zaizen utterly ignored his question. "Of course, who's to say that any of the others even survived? Beatrice could have taken over the world by now for all you know. Who's to say there's even a world to go back to at all?"

Amon paced slowly across the circle, skirting the tempest at the center warily. "I'm tired of listening to your voice," he said with a sigh.

"Then you should rest, Amon. Get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

Truthfully, he was exhausted. But he wasn't about to do anything Zaizen suggested. "So, what do you get out of this?" Amon asked, leaning against the remains of a shattered statue on the other side of the circle from Zaizen. He honestly didn't care, but he needed a distraction to keep his heavy eyelids from drifting shut completely.

"Pardon?"

"What do you get for breaking me?" Amon shifted against the statue, turning enough to focus his glare fully on Zaizen.

A slow smile curved Zaizen's lips. "You still understand nothing."

"What is there to understand?" Amon clung to his anger desperately like a drowning man to anything that floats. The anger was purely superficial at this point, but it gave him a focus beyond the thoughts he was trying very hard to avoid. "Did you cut a deal with the devil? I know you wouldn't put this much effort into driving me insane if you weren't getting anything out of it."

Zaizen laughed throatily. "You're still asking the wrong questions, Amon. It's not what _I_ get out of it. It's what you get out of it. You are the one driving yourself insane." Zaizen tapped the arm of the throne thoughtfully before standing up slowly. "You've been wandering this place for hours, but you have yet to truly explore the one place that holds the promise of escape."

Amon pushed himself away from the statue. "What place?"

"It's been here the entire time, Amon." Zaizen took a step forward, gesturing toward the whirlwind almost reverently. "You stepped into it once, but you only fought against it, refusing to face the truth. The answers you are searching for so frantically are somewhere within this chaos, and you know it. Still, you'd rather stay here with me, hiding in the darkness and dwelling within the familiar constructs of your insecurities. Are you truly so afraid of yourself that you would rather spend your time with a man who stole so much of your life away?"

Zaizen's tone had changed--his entire demeanor had shifted--and understanding struck Amon swiftly in an epiphany as brilliant as the sun. All at once he realized that he had been refusing to see the truth all along. The ruined man before him was not Zaizen at all. Zaizen was dead, and the apparition standing in front of him was nothing more than a shadow created from his memories. Amon had been refusing to listen to him because his voice was Zaizen's and he was cloaked in Zaizen's ruined shape, but the voice and the form were of Amon's creation. He had shrouded the voice he did not want to hear in the shell of someone he loathed so that he could ignore its words without thought.

"You understand now, don't you?" Zaizen asked quietly. "You know who I am."

Amon swallowed hard, but did not reply.

Zaizen's eyes darkened. "And you know what you must do."

He did know, and yet he still hesitated, his hands tightening into fists. "What if I really do lose my mind?" he whispered faintly, watching the wind coiling around itself and swallowing the wave of fear rising inside of him.

"What if you've already lost it, and the only way to find it again is to jump into the storm?" Zaizen took a step toward him, his features softening with compassion the real Zaizen had never known. "The only way to move forward is to walk away from the past, Amon. Let everything go."

Closing his eyes, Amon stepped forward into the column of turbulent light. The ground fell out from beneath him and he soared off the precipice into the unknown.

----------

Her nose twitched at the sulfurous smell of a nearby pool. Blood red liquid bubbled up through a crevice in the misshapen, undulating ground, swirling into a basin murky with lumps of what she chose to assume were dirt, rocks, or whatever pathetic form of life could exist in this place--she avoided looking too closely. She skirted the noxious pool with careful steps, uncertain of her footing on the uneven ground.

Adjusting Amon's limp form on her shoulders, Trish hauled them both over a steep incline of jagged, loamy rock and paused at the edge of a sloping cliff to catch her breath. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if she was simply getting tired, but Amon seemed to have put on weight since their arrival in the underworld. Considering the fact that he hadn't eaten for several days, she knew this couldn't be the case, and yet she didn't want to accept the possibility that she had grown so weak. Being in the demon world should have boosted her powers at least twofold, but she had already been tired when they first came through the door and she had been pushing herself hard ever since. Still, she couldn't afford weakness at the moment.

She gathered her determination, gritting her teeth as she glanced up at the hazy, indistinct glow of a chartreuse sky mottled with vaporous scarlet wisps of cloud. This place had been her home at one point in her life, though she had hardly been aware of herself at the time. Back then she had never known anything but the hideous landscape of the demon world, so she had never truly seen it for what it was. Her first journey into the human world had nearly overwhelmed her; it had seemed garishly bright and uncomfortably cold, sharp and defined by sharp edges and clear lines. The demon world was none of those things.

Colors in the underworld were all skewed toward the red end of the spectrum, but they had not seemed so unnatural when she lived here before. The air was thick and warm like a fleecy blanket, sticky as it clung to her skin and cloying on her tongue, but she had found it invigorating in the years she spent serving Mundus, the prince of the demon world. Technically, she had been little more than a child at that time, freshly formed into the image of another, created to serve a purpose and conditioned to follow her master without question.

Then everything had changed, and she had changed--and now even the underworld had changed as well. When Mundus had been in power, traces of civilization could be found even on the first level of hell, but now the chaotic terrain had swallowed every shard of architecture still remaining from those days, tearing them apart and remaking them into fragmented landmarks and lonely relics twisted merged into the earth itself. The landscape was disorienting, hazy and indistinct--and alive in a way no place in the human world could ever be--the demon world moved and breathed and changed with a heartbeat and purpose of its own.

Hugging close to the cliff face as she traversed a narrow strip of rock jutting out over the sulfur pool, Trish sighed when they reached the dusty plateau above and found a convenient splinter of column to rest Amon against for a moment. He had passed out on the way through the gate and had not shown signs of consciousness since, but she refused to leave him behind. Quickly looking away from his feverish features and rising to her feet again, she tried not to consider the possibility that he would not wake up from his nightmare--that his soul had already left his body and become trapped in the underworld.

A balmy breeze caught in her hair and she closed her eyes, enjoying the brief respite from the suffocatingly stagnant air for what it was. She could feel it again... the sensation of being watched. She had not seen another sentient being since their arrival in the underworld, yet she had been feeling a presence at the edge of her awareness for quite some time now. Though Beatrice's decision to throw them through the doorway into the demon world had seemed unplanned at the time, she was beginning to wonder if it had been deliberate after all. Trish's instincts were warning her of a trap, and she had never had a reason to ignore them before.

----------

Amon hadn't expected the unknown to look so very familiar.

"Good afternoon, Amon," the Master of Harry's greeted kindly from behind the bar. "Would you like a drink?"

Hesitating in the doorway, Amon surveyed the empty restaurant warily. What did this place have to do with his craft? Somehow, Amon had expected to confront his inner demons in a location that was a bit more foreign and uncomfortable, but Harry's was as much his home as any place. Returning his attention to the Master, Amon replied finally, "Yes. Thank you."

He took a seat at the bar, staring at the empty glass the Master had already placed on its polished surface and the Master asked, "What would you like?"

Amon wondered if his answer was significant and if he should choose his drink carefully. In the end, he decided to avoid being specific. "I don't care. Something strong."

The Master smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "I have just the thing." He pulled a bottle off the shelf behind the bar, uncorking it with practiced ease.

Amon frowned. He had never been much of wine drinker, but the beverage had been nearly unavoidable during his years of training with Solomon in Europe. Even so, he had never really liked it, and he liked it even less now because of the memories its flavor recalled so vividly. Placing a hand over the top of the glass when the Master tilted the bottle to pour cradling the neck with a towel-draped hand, Amon said gently, "Don't you have anything else?"

His smile tightening with a menace that seemed alien on the his face, the Master said smoothly, "This is your vintage, Amon."

Blinking at him in surprise, Amon shifted his gaze to the label pasted to the bottle and felt a chill rush through him when he saw his own name scrawled over it in serpentine letters. The Master tipped the bottle again, but Amon placed his hand down firmly over the glass. "Aren't you even going to let it breathe first?" he protested, delaying the inevitable for a reason he could not comprehend.

"There's no need." The Master grasped Amon's wrist with more strength than his frail frame suggested was possible, lifting it off the glass and pouring crimson liquid into the glass before Amon could find a new objection.

Amon stared at the glass with dread crawling through his veins, but he found himself reaching for it before he knew what he was doing. The stem was cool beneath his fingertips, the wine swirling sluggishly as he lifted the glass. He raised it to his lips, noticing the Master watching him closely, his thin lips curved into an ominous smile.

Before he could take a sip, the sound of metal scraping against wood caught his attention. Turning toward the movement he had seen out of the corner of his eyes, Amon returned the glass to its place on the bar, his hand shaking when he recognized the young woman seating herself beside him. She pushed a chestnut brown strand of hair behind her ear and smiled coyly at the Master.

"Kate," Amon whispered, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"I'll have what Amon's having, Master," she said with her usual, glib quirk of a brow. Shifting her gaze to Amon as the Master reached for another glass, she rested an elbow on the bar and placed her chin in her palm. "It's been a long time."

Amon looked away from her sharply. "What do you want?"

"Dangerous question," she commented. "You shouldn't ask ghosts such a direct question unless you're prepared to hear their answer."

"Are you here for revenge?"

She chuckled in that half-mad lilt he remembered all too well. "Revenge?" She took a sip of her wine, licking the liquid from her lips suggestively. "It's true that you murdered me, but I don't really blame you for what you did. You were just following orders like the obedient little soldier that you are."

Amon's fingers tightened on the delicate stem of the wine glass. "They said you had already become a witch. You were beyond saving."

Kate shrugged. "Maybe I was." Leaning closer to him, and placing a hand on his arm to get his attention, she whispered, "But if you really believe that, why do you still blame yourself for my death?"

Amon refused to look at her, focusing on his reflection as it frowned up at him from the ruddy liquid inside his glass. "I don't know."

"I do."

His jaw clenched and he glanced at her quickly.

"You feel like a hypocrite. Solomon judged me unfit to live because my control over my craft was slipping and you followed their orders to destroy me without a second thought. You did their bidding, understanding all along that they could make that same decision about you at any moment. You are nothing more than Solomon's dog, and you know it."

The glint of hatred in her mundane brown eyes made him cringe. He had not known Kate well, but he had known her well enough to find the loathing in her eyes disturbing. "I have no choice."

"That's just an excuse."

Amon sighed, lifting the glass again and swirling the wine idly. His mouth was parched and the wine was starting to look a bit more desirable. He took a swig of it, but nearly spit it out when he tasted the metallic flavor. Swallowing with effort, Amon turned his gaze to the Master who had paused with a rag in his hand at the other end of the bar, watching him intently. "This isn't wine," he whispered, slamming the glass back down with no regard for its fragility.

"Who do you think Solomon will ask you to murder for them next?" Kate asked as if he hadn't spoken. "What other blood do you think you will be forced to spill on Solomon's orders? Karasuma's? Sakaki's? Or maybe my replacement's? Or do you think you will be their next target, Amon?"

"What difference does it make?" Amon pushed his chair away from the bar and stood up. "The one I wanted to protect is already dead."

"Leaving already, Amon?" the Master's smile was carefully constructed, but hollow.

Without replying, Amon headed for the door.

"Be careful, Amon," Kate said sadly. "There's only so much blood you can wash off your hands."

----------

He watched from a distance, leaning casually against a column shrouded within the shelter of a crumbling alcove and absently fingering the braided wrappings of Yamato's hilt. Patience was one of the few virtues he cultivated, and therefore he had been silently observing for quite some time now, weighing his options. Those options were fairly limited, but he delayed narrowing them even further with a choice before such a decision was absolutely necessary. He had been given very specific orders, of course, but he had yet to determine whether or not they were worth obeying.

The woman struggling across the warped landscape seemed familiar to him, though he couldn't find a place for her among the shattered fragments of his memory. He knew who she looked like, certainly, but he also knew she was not the woman she resembled. She had his mother's looks, her curves and willowy physique--she even had his mother's eyes. But his mother had been human, and this woman was not.

She paused, putting down her burden with more care than seemed necessary. Rising to her full height, she stretched her slender body languidly, the movement highly suggestive despite the fact she probably wasn't aware anyone was watching the show. Gathering her long, arrow-straight hair into one hand and pulling it away from her neck with a sigh, she fanned herself uselessly with the other in an exercise of futility.

This first level of the underworld was nowhere near the blistering heat and nauseating discomfort of the lower levels, but it was still far from pleasant. Even he, who was always "icier than the arctic" according to his brother, was sweating beneath his layers of clothes. He had no intention of shedding a scrap of clothing, though; enduring discomfort was a form of discipline, and he was anything if not disciplined.

Frowning, the woman swept her vividly blue gaze across the fragmented plain, one of her hands drifting toward the gun at her hip when her eyes paused on his location. A small smile curved his lips as her posture became more guarded and she peered into the shadows hiding him; he knew she couldn't see him, but she sensed his attention at least. He had underestimated her, it seemed.

A tingling at the edge of his senses warned him of approaching danger a moment before he saw the creatures materialize out of the shadows behind the woman. She had noticed the threat as well, drawing her barbaric guns from their holsters and leaping into the fray of monsters with only a glance back in his direction.

He watched her fight for a while, his hand unconsciously clenching on the hilt of his sword. He knew she was acquainted with his brother simply by observing her technique; it had more than one thing in common with the rough brutality of his brother's fighting style--if such mindless combat could even be called a style. The revelation was hardly surprising considering the command Lucifer had whispered into his mind upon his revival. The ancient ruler of the underworld had rebuilt and breathed a mockery of new life into his body and chained his soul within its cage for one purpose only. He found it ironic that--for as much time and energy he had put into severing ties with his brother--the finality of his death had only been overturned for his brother's sake.

The woman had nearly defeated all the fiends when one of her guns clicked empty. He could tell by the slump of her shoulders that she was tiring; she had been fighting her way through the hideous landscape and defending the useless human she was dragging along with her for what might have amounted to several days in the human world. She had not rested and she had not replenished her strength. Even demons wore down eventually.

She stumbled and one of the creatures took advantage of her misstep. Her hands sparked with faint yellow energy, only demonstrating her current state of weakness as the electricity failed to stop the nobody from sinking its poisoned fangs into her shoulder.

He reacted before her cry of pain had even echoed away to silence, leaping from the shadows into the mass of perverted beasts with his hand ready on his katana. The creatures writhed around him, surveying their new foe with anticipation, but their time would have been more wisely spent on thoughts of defense. A bitter smile twisted his lips as he drew his blade swiftly and cut through the nobodies with precise, controlled violence.

----------

Amon was standing at one end of a long corridor that stretched on to infinity. He supposed he couldn't say for certain that it went on forever, but the description seemed close enough to the truth to make any difference inconsequential. The vaulted ceiling was veiled in darkness far above, thin, ornate columns lining the hallway and dividing the pale white marble space as they soared up toward the distant roof. The corridor itself was peaceful and still, but the windows framed in intervals between the columns looked out onto a violent storm, rain and wind attacking the glass relentlessly. The fact that he couldn't hear the storm only increased his unease.

He refused to turn around and find out if the door to Harry's was still behind him; he had no reason to go back. Surrendering himself completely to the unknown, he began walking, listening to the measured sound of his own steps echoing down the length of the empty hall. The scenery did not change as he continued walking, the sterile vista repeating endlessly without landmark or guide. The continuous monotony of the corridor lulled him into an almost meditative state, so he wasn't entirely certain when he first heard the sound of a second set of footsteps.

Amon glanced at the familiar figure walking casually beside him, hands buried in the pockets of his ridiculous white fur coat. Scratching idly at an untidy sideburn, his brother asked, "So where are we headed, bro?"

Amon looked away with a sigh. "Why don't you tell me?"

Nagira snorted. "Yeah, like that's going to happen. We're in _your_ head, Amon, and I can tell you right now that it's never made a helluva lot of sense to me."

"What are you doing here, then?" Amon asked with a hint of annoyance.

"You were lonely." Nagira shrugged. "Why you decided to summon me here to keep you company is anyone's guess. I mean, really, Amon, what does it say about a guy's psyche that he would rather imagine his brother than a hot babe when he's lonely? It's pretty damn pathetic, if you ask me. You need to get out more--or at least invest in more porn."

Amon increased his pace, his strides snapping with anger. "Feel free to disappear at any time. I assure you I don't need your company."

Nagira chuckled. "That's the parting lie you always leave me with, isn't it Amon?" Slapping him roughly on the shoulder, he added, "You're so full of shit, you lonely bastard."

Wincing as the gesture of brotherly love made his injury ignite in fresh pain, Amon growled, "I am not lonely. Go away."

"But we're almost at your destination," Nagira argued, waving at the set of double doors quickly approaching them from the other end of the corridor.

Their steps brought them closer to the elaborately carven doors far more quickly than they should have, as if the doors were meeting them halfway. When they were close enough for Amon to see his own reflection in the golden polished doorknob, Amon came to an uncertain stop, a twinge of fear shooting through him.

His hand still gripping Amon's shoulder, Nagira leaned toward him with a grin. "Don't you want to know what's on the other side? I swear, it had better be a hot chick, or I'm going to start questioning your sexual orientation."

Shifting his attention to his brother, Amon glared at Nagira in pure annoyance before shrugging off his touch and reaching for the doorknob. The doors swung open smoothly, revealing a vast, cathedral-like space, complete with gothic arches and multistory stained glass windows. No candles were lit, yet the space seemed to glow with a faint luminescence hovering in the air itself. Amon's eyes immediately focused on the altar at the center and the unidentifiable shape spread across it.

Nagira rubbed his hands over his arms as he shivered. "Hey, it's cold in there."

"Like a morgue," Amon whispered, approaching the altar slowly. A large white sheet was spread out over the very human shape lying motionless on top of it, and Amon's steps quickened.

The storm was still raging outside and lightning sent patterns of light and shadow dancing across the white sheet, the sound of thunder rumbling distantly. Amon paused next to the altar, a feeling of intense dread rising up inside of him. His hands were shaking as he reached out to the sheet, grasping the white fabric spasmodically. Somehow he knew he wouldn't like whatever he found beneath it. Fear clenched his chest in its steely vice and he swallowed, trying to slow his frenzied pulse.

Nagira stood next to him, looking over his shoulder as Amon lifted the sheet slowly. "It _is_ a chick," his brother commented, looking sideways at the pale girl lying so still on the stone altar.

The sheet drifted back down to cover her as Amon released it and stumbled a few steps away, panting for air. Thunder cackled at him outside the windows, louder than before and lightning spread fingers across the unseen sky, searching for a weakness in the barrier between them and the storm. He was trembling all over and his teeth chattered as he stared at the shrouded body on the altar.

"She's kind of young though, isn't she?" Nagira asked, glancing back at Amon, his arms crossed over his chest. He reached for the sheet and pulled it back, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Amon clenched his eyes shut. "Woah. She's naked under here."

Amon lunged for Nagira, pulling him away from the altar roughly. Unfortunately, the sheet was still gripped in his hand and it swept away from Robin, exposing her to the dim, nightmarish light of the cathedral. Amon shoved Nagira back against a column, looking away quickly from Robin's pale skin. "Leave her alone," he whispered breathlessly, staring at the dirty fur collar of Nagira's coat to avoid meeting his half-brother's eyes.

"Hm. So, I guess you're out of the woods on the sexual orientation question, but sexual perversion? Well, that's still a big question mark hanging over your head, little brother."

"Shut up," Amon hissed.

"She's just a kid," Nagira snapped. "It's not healthy to bottle up your desires, Amon. I swear, as soon as you get out of here, you need to take a trip down to Ikebukuro and find yourself a companion for the evening. It would do you good."

Shaking his head, Amon released his grip on Nagira's coat and stepped away with an anguished sigh. "It doesn't matter. She's dead, Nagira."

Nagira brushed off his coat. "Really? Looks pretty alive to me."

Reluctantly, Amon shifted his attention back to Robin. Her skin seemed nearly phosphorescent in the shadowy light, and her chest was rising and falling slowly and steadily. "Robin," he breathed, taking a shaky step toward her. He reached for her, feeling a little like a dirty old man, but unable to hold himself back any longer. His hand went as far as to brush a few ginger strands out of her face tenderly before he jerked it away reflexively.

"No," he gasped, looking away sharply. "She's not real. This is only in my mind."

"You are so pathetic."

Amon looked up at the sound of the new voice--his own voice. He saw himself seated indifferently on the altar next to Robin, his hands resting on the edge and tapping the stone beneath his fingers impatiently. Amon turned in a slow circle searching for his brother, but Nagira was nowhere to be seen. He was alone in an ethereal cathedral with Robin's naked body...and himself. _Paging Dr. Freud..._

"Hello? Amon."

Trying to slow his breathing before he hyperventilated, Amon shifted his attention back to his mirror image. "What do you want?"

A mockery of his own laugh echoed through the resonant space. "You should see the look on your face. Oh wait. You can, can't you?" Amon glared at himself, trying not to think too deeply about how incredibly fucked up that was, but his reflection only smirked, kicking his heavy boots back against the framework beneath the altar lightly. "Listen, we don't have a lot of time."

"Time? What difference does time make in the afterlife?"

Rolling his eyes, the other Amon shook his head. "Time is everything...whether you're in heaven or hell or on the dark side of the moon--the only difference is the way you measure it. But let me be clear: _you_ are the one running out of time. Your sanity is slipping away like sand through an hourglass, and you don't have much longer before you go stark, raving mad."

"Who are you?" Amon asked unnecessarily, not liking the direction of this conversation and childishly trying to derail it before it went any further.

"Like you need to ask..."

Amon's lips thinned with anger. "You've stolen my face and my body but you are not me. Are you a symbol of my craft? My subconscious?"

"Fine." Amon's clone pushed himself off the altar and brushed off his trench coat. "Since you can't even go crazy without rationalizing it, let's make this simple. You're the ego. I'm the id. In case you haven't noticed, we don't get along very well. I spend most of my time locked up in a cage somewhere deep inside of you, and you spend most of your time trying to throw away the key. Incidentally, I have some company in that little cage." He gestured to the burst of lightning flashing blindingly white outside the windows. "Somewhere along the line, your craft and I hooked up, and we've been fighting against you ever since. So, to answer your questions: yes--to both."

"What do you want from me?" Amon asked again.

"I want to keep my own little corner of your crazy to myself. If you take over my world too, the war's going to be on for real. And that's no good, Amon. I want you to stay only slightly insane so I can play in your head when you're asleep."

"This conversation is ridiculous." Amon rubbed his temple.

"I knew you were going to say that. You're so skeptical unless someone spells everything out for you. So that 's why I prepared this chart."

Amon sighed and gave in to the temptation to look up. His foil had found an easel somewhere and placed a large piece of poster board on it neatly. A diagram was scrawled across the board in his own handwriting, complete with pictures. Pointing to the picture of him at the center of the diagram with a thin white baton, the other Amon smiled at him indulgently. "So this is you." He drew an invisible circle around the picture.

"Really."

"Yes. And here I am. And this is your craft over here. Here's your brother, and over here is your daughter. And this...this here is Robin." He gestured to the altar behind him as he added. "Oh, and she's right back here too."

"I noticed."

"So anyway, the point is, Amon, in order for you to wake up and get back to your normal life--boring as it is--you need to reconcile with us."

"What if I don't want to go back to my life?" Amon leaned back against a column, crossing his arms over his chest. "What if I'm tired of my life?"

The other Amon clucked his tongue. "Oh... That's no good."

"What is Robin doing on that diagram, hm? She's dead. Why can't I just let her go?"

Mirroring his gesture, the other Amon crossed his arms over his chest as well. "Gee, I don't know, Amon. Maybe it's because your gut is telling you not to give up on her just yet." Leaning forward, he added conspiratorially, "I have something to do with that gut instinct, by the way. You should really listen to me more often."

Amon pushed himself away from the column furiously. "I watched her die--felt her die in my arms! You're trying to delude me."

The other Amon raised his hands palm outward in a silent plea for him to calm down. "This isn't simple denial, Amon. Listen, I know you don't trust me much, but this intuition is coming from your craft. It's picking up on something your rational mind can't explain. I can't tell you how we know this, but Robin is not as dead as you think."

Amon didn't know whether or not to believe his mirror image, but he was growing tired of fighting. Maybe it was about time he listened to the voice that he had originally clothed in Zaizen's form; maybe it was time that he give up on logic and rational thinking and let everything go. Maybe it was time for him to trust, even if when he didn't understand. "Tell me what I need to do."

"So, you're ready to end this?"

"Yes."

"We could very likely destroy ourselves trying."

"I know."

"Okay."

The circular window far above them shattered, a bolt of lightning igniting the air as it stabbed toward the ground. Amon screamed when the energy hit him square in the chest. Falling to his knees, he looked up at the altar and Robin's silent body with determination, fighting to stay conscious past the pain.

----------

Trish's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the man who had just materialized from the gloom. He wielded his katana with unearthly dexterity as he cut through the creatures surrounding her, each swift swing of his blade infused with strength and power. A sapphire blue long coat whirled around his legs as he moved, and familiar, silver strands of hair fell forward across his even more familiar face. She knew Dante's features well enough to recognize them immediately, but she also knew without a doubt that the man before her was not Dante.

His movements were measured, no effort wasted as he sliced through the last enemy and paused, flinging the blood off his blade with a gesture elegant enough to be the final step in a dance. Sheathing his sword fluidly in the scabbard grasped in his other hand, he turned to face her hastelessly. His pale blue eyes were glacially cold as he looked down at her, his chin raised haughtily as he threaded his fingers through pale hair and pushed the strands back into a messy pile on top of his head.

Clutching her wounded shoulder tightly as if she could force the wound to heal more quickly by squeezing it shut, she attempted to sit up as a prelude to standing, but paused in the action to catch her breath; the poison was affecting her more than she had expected. He extended a hand to her generously and she took it with only a little hesitation. His skin was silken beneath her fingertips, but his grip was unyielding as he hauled her to her feet effortlessly, his hand lingering on hers as he regarded her silently.

She had been unprepared for their proximity once she was on her feet, and his touch sent an unexpected chill racing through her; his skin was blessedly cool, refreshing in the stifling heat of the underworld. "I appreciate the assistance," she said quietly with an affected smile. "It's been a long time, Vergil."

Vergil's lips thinned, a pale brow arching over his sub-zero gaze. His grip tightened on her hand. "Do I know you?" His voice was soft, smoother than Dante's but edged with thinly veiled menace.

It wasn't much of a surprise that he didn't recognize her. She had met Vergil long before her first meeting with Dante, but his soul had already been corrupted by Mundus by that point. Mundus had remade Vergil into Nero Angelo, brainwashed him and turned him into a soulless weapon. Though she had known he was Dante's twin brother, she had seen him only as a fellow servant of her master at the time. He had barely noticed her existence. "We've met before, but I'm not sure you were in your right mind then." She honestly wasn't sure if he was in his right mind now--or if he even had a "right mind" at all--but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Vergil's expression changed subtly, though it was no easier to read. "Did you serve Mundus?"

He remembered that much at least, it seemed. Reluctantly, she admitted, "Mundus sent me to bring Dante to Mallet island."

Vergil nodded indifferently, releasing her hand abruptly. "That's why you look like _her_, then. He knew Dante would be compelled to follow you if he used her image."

"What are you doing here, Vergil?" Trish demanded, shifting the focus back to him. "Dante defeated you on Mallet. You died."

Smiling tightly, Vergil looked away. "What does death mean to a devil? Did you think I would simply cease to exist?" Though his expression was still carefully vacant and vaguely bored, she could tell that hearing about his defeat at his brother's hands rankled. She wondered how much he actually did remember about that time. Did he even recall his last fight with Dante?

"You are only half-demon. Humans die."

"Maybe I did die..." Vergil's fingers grasped at the golden ribbons hanging from his scabbard, a frown darkening his features. Trish might have found it unnerving to see a mirror of Dante's face twisted into such a brooding expression, but Vergil's bearing and attitude were so far removed from Dante's that his similarity in appearance was not impossible ignore. "But death, it seems, is little more than a state of mind."

Trish found herself smiling. "You should write a song about it." His frosty eyes returned their attention to her, and her expression sobered. "I just meant... it sounded poetic like a... never mind."

He scrutinized her silently for a moment. "What is Dante to you now? Is he your friend or your foe?"

Trish shifted her weight onto one foot, her hand loosening its grip on her shoulder as she considered her response carefully. She knew that Dante and Vergil had never gotten along--not even before Mundus had entered the picture. "Why would you care one way or the other?"

"I _don't_ care," Vergil answered succinctly. "But it's obvious you know him well. You sounded just like him a moment ago."

His observation gave her a strange sort of satisfaction; as much as Dante drove her crazy at times, he did have a number of rather admirable qualities. She wasn't sure if his corny sense of humor would have been among them, but she took the comparison to Dante as a compliment anyway. "You're right," she admitted. "I do know him well. As for my alignment with him... I betrayed him once, but I will never betray him again."

Vergil inclined his head thoughtfully, but did not speak.

"What about you? I know there is little love between the two of you."

Vergil blinked reflexively at her statement, and she wondered if he had actually flinched. Pursing his lips, he looked away, his eyes unfocused. "Dante and I disagree on many things--everything that matters--but on some level I suppose I do respect him...at least in part." That was as noncommittal an admission as she had ever heard. Vergil chose his words carefully; he did not stumble his way through sentences without purpose. Therefore, the ambiguous nature of his statement was significant.

His eyes focused on her again, his expression carefully apathetic. "That's why I tried to warn him. But, true to form, he failed to understand."

Trish blinked at him in surprise. "Warn him? How?"

"In a dream. Not that it matters now."

He turned away again, his coat tails rippling with the movement and the dull, sickly yellow light catching in the silver embroidery chasing circuitous paths down the lapels. She found herself mesmerized by his profile for a moment, intrigued by the enigma he wove around himself. He was different than he had been when she knew him before--no less aloof but more inscrutable. She remembered how Dante had described him to her in the past, and she felt the absolute verity of his description in looking at Vergil now. Vergil was coldly calculating and unreachably remote; he never did anything without reason, but his reasons were rarely obvious.

"Why would you warn him?"

He looked back at her with only his eyes. "He has no idea what he's up against. And neither do you."

Trish cocked an eyebrow at him. "That doesn't explain why you would warn someone you can barely find the capacity to even respect. Just what side are you on, Vergil? You seem to know a lot about Dante's enemies."

"Dante has many enemies," Vergil said flatly. "I am not one of them--at least not at the moment."

"So you no longer hate him?" Trish persisted, sensing the danger in pushing Vergil but refusing to back down without an answer.

Though she hadn't thought it possible, his expression became even more conceited. "I have never truly hated him, though I can't say the same for his feelings toward me. Dante and I are like opposite poles of a magnet; we perpetually repel each other though we are indelibly connected. Oil and water can be forced to exist in the same space, but they will never mix. And neither will we."

"And yet you warned him."

Shrugging minutely, he replied, "I attempted to warn him. Yes."

"Why?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Who is this enemy that spooked you enough for you to attempt contacting your estranged brother?"

Vergil's piercing blue gaze returned to her with a hint of annoyance. "I don't see why I owe you an explanation."

His response caught her off guard. "I thought you wanted to warn Dante."

"I don't see Dante here. And it seems you already have a companion with you." He took a step toward Amon, but she shifted her weight toward him warningly. He paused in his advance, assessing her with curiosity burning in his eyes. "He's human...and still alive. I've been watching you defend him, but I fail to understand why."

_He's been watching me...but he waited until now to get involved?_ At least now she knew who the watching eyes she had sensed belonged to, but she wasn't entirely sure what to do with this bit of information, so she decided to offer only as much information in return as was necessary. "He isn't meant to be here."

"Obviously. Why _is_ he here, then?"

Ignoring his question, Trish said, "I intend to keep him alive until I can get him back to the human world."

Vergil looked down at Amon again coolly. "Is he your lover?"

A bark of a laugh escaped Trish's lips before she could hold it back. "Hardly. He's not even a friend, really." Looking down at Amon's flushed features she frowned; helpless did not look good on him. "But I feel obligated to take care of him."

"Why?"

Trish hesitated, uncertain if she even had an answer. "Because Dante would want me to bring him back safely."

Vergil raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile twitching over his lips. "He couldn't be Dante's lover."

Trish gave him a withering look, and bit down on her immediate response. His comment had been a very Dante-like thing to say, and she was tempted to let her guard down enough to crack a joke again--perhaps that had been his intention. From what little she knew of him, Vergil was a manipulative bastard; he could turn any situation to his advantage with a few choice words. Keeping her voice carefully neutral, she replied, "Dante has pledged his help to this man and his companions."

Considering her thoughtfully, Vergil cocked his head slightly in a gesture that reminded her painfully of his brother. "I don't understand how Dante's pledge binds you in any way. You're more demon than either of us, and likely more powerful as well. What hold could Dante possibly have over you?"

Trish frowned. She didn't like how Vergil reduced everything to a simple balance of power. How strange that he would instantly conclude that Amon was her lover, but would not come to the same conclusion with Dante. "I'm his partner," she answered quickly.

"Dante's partner," Vergil echoed mockingly, that smug expression on his features again. "How interesting."

It was Trish's turn to tilt her head at him, though her response was petulant compared to his calm words wrapped in velvet to hide their sting. "What is it? What's so damn interesting?"

Vergil's eyes flickered with impatience. "I'm simply trying to understand why a full-blooded demon would be so loyal to someone as foolhardy as Dante."

Shaking her head, Trish exhaled slowly to restrain herself from snapping back. She met his gaze boldly, refusing to let him intimidate her. "Stop trying to understand," she said with forced calm. "You don't understand him, so how could you possibly understand me?"

Vergil took a slow step toward her and she had to repress the instinct to back away." I've angered you, haven't I?" His voice was muted and glossy smooth. "You take my judgment of Dante personally, don't you?"

Rapidly growing weary of the complications in conversing with Vergil, Trish was actually relieved when a sudden moan from Amon interrupted their conversation. "Robin," Amon gasped in his sleep. Most of his feverish mumblings were incomprehensible, but Robin's name came through clearly.

Kneeling down beside him, she touched his forehead lightly with her forearm, but jerked away when she felt the heat of his skin. "He's getting worse," she murmured. Frowning, she pushed damp locks of hair away from his face with a maternal kind of concern.

"He's trapped inside his mind," Vergil commented, crouching down beside her like a panther waiting to pounce. "He can't deal with the horrors of this place, so he's retreated deep within his psyche."

She felt Vergil's eyes regarding her silently, but she ignored him, biting her lower lip in frustration. Amon was growing weaker with every passing hour, and she wasn't exactly in top form anymore either. Reluctantly, she was beginning to consider the possibility that they might need Vergil's help to get back to the human world--that was, if he were even willing to give it. She had no desire to be indebted to the man, but at the moment she wasn't sure she had much choice. "Vergil..."

Amon saved her from finishing that sentence as he drew attention back to himself with an explosion of energy. The force of the icy wind was unexpected, and she shielded herself instinctively from the onslaught with her arms, the knife-sharp gusts of air cutting into her skin. She squinted through the rush of power igniting the air, but she could only make out Amon's vague shape through the tempest.

A strong gust of wind shoved her off balance and sent her reeling in the last direction she had wanted to go: straight toward Vergil. He was unprepared for her sudden weight and they both tumbled backwards into the dirt, one of Trish's hands caught in the satiny fabric of Vergil's coat, the other resting dangerously low on his thigh. She jerked her hands away from him, but was unable to crawl out from between his splayed legs before another howling blast of wind engulfed them, pushing her back against his chest. Her hair tangled around them, and Vergil leaned closer to her, raising an arm and sheltering them both behind the protection of his coat.

She huddled against him reluctantly when they were attacked by another vicious blast of wind, trying not to think about the clean, faintly woodsy scent of his skin or the way the smell reminded her of snow. Though his very presence had been a manifestation of danger when she knew him in the past, there was something comforting about sheltering in his arms now. The element of danger had not disappeared entirely--though she was used to the thrill of fear in her line of work--but his imperturbable calm was reassuring in its own way.

"He's quite an interesting companion," Vergil hissed in her ear. "Not as human as he looks, though not without human weakness."

"His control over his powers was minimal in the human world," Trish admitted. "He's likely to burn himself out if he can't gain control here."

"His madness is only worsening. We should end his suffering."

She saw him reaching for his katana, and she snatched at his wrist. "No." she said firmly, trying to meet his gaze behind the snarls of quicksilver hair dancing across his face in the riotous gusts of wind. "Give him the chance to overcome it."

Though she couldn't be certain of what she was seeing beyond the blur of hair and debris in the turbulent air, Vergil's expression seemed to soften with something akin to tenderness. His hand relaxed on his katana and he made no move to unsheathe it. "You are as foolish as Dante." Somehow, his words sounded more like a compliment than an insult.

Turning her attention back to Amon and squinting through the blasts of wind, she saw Amon's face contorting in pain as he moaned loudly, his hands gripping the earth and his back arched against the column behind him. The storm intensified for a moment, but then quieted suddenly, the wind calming to a gentle breeze.

Startled by the quick change, Trish tensed, wondering if Amon's body had finally given out under the pressure. She crawled to her feet, watching him anxiously, but she saw his chest rising and falling slowly and breathed a sigh of relief. For the moment, at least, he seemed to have regained control.

To her surprise, Amon's eyes fluttered open a moment later, blinking rapidly. They darted around before settling on Vergil and then drifting back over to her as she knelt down next to him. "Trish," he breathed.

"Hey," she replied with a smile, trying not to betray her concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Amon replied, his voice rougher than sandpaper. "Where are we?"

"We're in the demon world," she answered reluctantly.

"Hell," he rephrased, his squinted eyes finally focusing on her completely.

"That's another name for it, yes."

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Amon's eyes shifted again to Vergil and Trish watched his recognition transition to confusion. He swallowed and returned his gaze to her uncertainly. "How long have we been here?"

"It's hard to judge time, but I think it's been several days."

Amon tried to sit up, but winced as soon as he moved. "Several days!" Panic crossing his still very flushed features, he said quickly, "Robin. We have to get back to her. We have to--"

"Calm down," Trish said reassuringly, pushing him easily back against the column. "One thing at a time."

Licking his dry, chapped lips, he said with a hint of despair, "I still can't feel her. She's..."

"Dante is with her," she reminded him. "He'll protect her, Amon. There's nothing you can do for her right now."

"Dante..." Amon repeated uncertainly, his eyes immediately focusing on Vergil again.

Glancing at Vergil in worry, she registered the annoyance mixed with curiosity on his features before placing a hand lightly on Amon's shoulder in warning. "This is Vergil...Dante's twin brother."

"Who is this Robin?" Vergil asked, observing Amon closely.

Amon's eyes narrowed at Vergil, and Trish tightened her grip on his shoulder. "Do you think you can stand?" she asked him.

"I honestly have no idea," Amon answered quietly.

"Let's try it." Trish pulled one of his arms over her shoulder and slowly helped him to his feet, pleased to find that he didn't put as much of his weight on her as she had expected. Experimentally, she eased her grip on his arm and he pulled it away slowly, standing on his own power, though he looked more than a little shaky on his feet.

Stabilizing himself with a hand on the column behind him, Amon looked up at Vergil warily. "What's our plan of action?" he asked, glancing back at Trish.

"There's a place that has been used as a gateway into the human world in the past," she answered hesitantly, still uncertain about sharing her intentions in Vergil's presence, but without a plan for removing his prying ears. "It's not far away. If Dante does what I expect him to do, he will go to the mirror of that place in the other world. If we open a door simultaneously, we should be able to get through."

"Dante would want you back badly enough to violate his own beliefs?" Vergil asked in that quiet, disapproving tone his voice assumed when he was talking about Dante. "He would voluntarily open a gateway to the demon world?"

Shaking her head sadly, Trish replied, "You don't understand him at all."

"But you do?"

"What are you getting at?" Trish demanded. His barbed comments were starting to get old; he seemed to be deliberately trying to get her to turn against Dante, and that kind of juvenile behavior irritated her more than his dispassionate demeanor.

Vergil seemed unsurprised by her hostility. "You never answered my question before. Why do you take my opinion of Dante so personally?"

"Surprising as it may be to you, not everyone dislikes Dante." Trish felt Amon's eyes watching her closely, and she registered the irony of her words. She knew that Amon had his own problems with Dante, but she didn't think he would go so far as to side with Vergil simply to oppose Dante; she didn't think he would do that, and yet she wasn't entirely sure. Actually, now that she thought about it, Amon had quite a lot in common with Vergil as far as personality was concerned; she could only hope they didn't share the same convictions as well.

As if he had read her mind, Vergil shifted his gaze to Amon. "Perhaps not. But _he_ does. Don't you?"

Trish held her breath as she watched Amon carefully. Pushing himself away from the column and squaring his shoulders, Amon said, "He is not my friend, but he has done nothing to deserve my hatred."

Vergil shook his head minisculely, a small, secretive smile curving his lips. "Dante has a talent for drawing people to his hopeless causes. We were both born with a portion of our father's charisma, I suppose."

"I wouldn't call it charisma," Amon scoffed.

Turning away from them, his hand tightening on his katana, Vergil announced suddenly, "I will help you open the gate."

"No way," Trish said resolutely. Though she had considered asking for his help before, his attempt to manipulate Amon had made up her mind. They would get back to the demon world on their own.

"I know far more about this place than you do" Vergil glanced back at her over his shoulder.

Trish raised an eyebrow at him defiantly. "I used to live here too, remember?"

"Then you should remember that the landscape changes frequently. You have been heading in the wrong direction for a while now."

"We'll find it eventually," Trish insisted. "We don't need your help."

Vergil turned around again deliberately, his expression indifferent. "You don't want me to slip through the door with you, do you? You're that worried about Dante?"

Trish frowned, her hands clenching at her sides. "You were wrong about him. He doesn't hate you. Honestly, I don't think he could deal with the pain of killing you twice."

Vergil's eyes widened ever so slightly, but he quickly hid away his surprise. It was obvious that her admission of Dante's feelings had startled him, but she doubted he would ever acknowledge those feelings. They were inconvenient to him and therefore unnecessary. A small smile curved his lips. "You won't even consider the possibility that I might kill him instead?"

"Of course I considered it," she said with a slow smile. "But, I'll kill you myself before it comes to that."

Vergil's smile widened, his eyes growing colder. A metallic sound rang in her ears, but she did not see him move, only registering his movement when he was standing close enough for her to feel the chill of his blade pressed against her neck. "I'm not defeated so easily."

Narrowing her eyes at him, Trish pressed her palm against the blade and pushed it back toward him, ignoring the bite of pain as the razor sharp blade cut into her. "You were the one praising my powers as a full-blooded demon."

He pulled the katana away from her hand fluidly, taking a step back and sheathing it with a flourish. "So I was. But you have a fatal weakness."

"Oh?"

"You're in love with Dante."

Trish swallowed. "Of course."

"Does he deny you?"

His question surprised her. "Why would he...?" She trailed off as she realized what he was thinking and hoped he wouldn't say it out loud. She could feel Amon's eyes watching them both closely, and she didn't want this particular fact revealed to him.

She should have known her hopes were futile. "I didn't realize Dante had such an Oedipus complex," Vergil purred quietly.

"I may look like her," Trish countered quickly, "but I am _not_ her. He knows that."

Vergil shook his head, a scornful expression on his face. "Amazing. Dante must be more damaged than I thought if he can stand to make love to a woman who has our mother's face."

Trish heard Amon shift on his feet, but she refused to observe his reaction. Her hand was already on one of her guns and she had closed the distance between her and Vergil, pressing the gun against his pale throat. "Say that again," she dared him.

Vergil smirked coldly. "I don't have to. You heard me the first time."

"I am no more like her than you are like him. We may look alike, but we are completely different souls."

Bitterness twisted Vergil's expression. "Still, it takes a truly deranged man to be attracted to something that resembles his own flesh and blood so closely."

"That's enough," Amon said in disgust, surprising Trish enough that she turned her attention away from Vergil and back to him. Amon's eyes were focused on Vergil. "I don't care what your motives are or why you hate Dante. All I do care about is how I can get out of here and back to Robin, and if you can get me there more quickly, then, by all means, lead on. If you want to fight Dante, be my guest. Just don't get in my way."

Trish instantly regretted keeping Amon safe over the last few days. She wished she had left him to be eaten by nobodies or blood goats. "You asshole," she hissed under her breath, tempted to turn her gun on him instead.

Vergil chuckled softly, tracing a finger over Trish's gun. "It looks like Dante will have to defend himself." Then, more quietly, he added, "But you needn't worry. Fighting him is not my first priority. We have a common enemy at the moment."

**­­­­----------**

**I know, I know... like we really need more characters in this story. But I've been really craving Vergil lately--you know, craving _writing_ him. Yeah, not the other kind of craving. No not at all. Ha. But, if you haven't noticed, in this sequel the tables are turning slightly on the "who's got their crap together" factor. Dante's had it together through most of the first story, but now he's going to be dealing with some angsty flashbacks from his past and Amon is going to be the one finally pulling himself together. **

**Let me know if you have any questions about the Devil May Cry stuff. I tried to explain it without going into too much detail. Besides, the games are vague enough that much of it is left up to interpretation anyway, so some of it is intentionally secretive because I have my own ideas about their backstories.**

**In case anyone was confused by who the hell Kate is, she is the person Robin was originally meant to "replace" in the series. I haven't really mentioned her in this story, but I always thought she could be an interesting character--not that I gave her much screen time anyway.**

**Next chapter will bring us back into the real world again, though I have to warn you it will likely take a few weeks like this chapter did before I get it up. But this was one of my longest chapters yet, so you aren't allowed to complain too loudly.**


	4. Awakening

**Author's Note: So this chapter is starting out with another dream… (or is it?) I know everyone's probably getting tired of dream sequences by now, so I apologize. This chapter was strangely difficult for me to write, partially because it took me forever to decide on a couple plot points--and they're pretty important since they determine how things go later on. Although, as I'm sure shivaindis could attest, I was overthinking some of them. Anyway, here it is. Hope it doesn't suck too bad. ;) I also hope that this beginning section doesn't confuse you all too much!**

**Chapter Four**

**Awakening**

_"Amon?" Her voice sounded fragile and strangely hollow in the silence of the endless corridor. It did not echo--though it should have reverberated off the marble columns and floor--but she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised considering the way the stale air also swallowed any sound of the ferocious storm raging outside the windows. _

_She couldn't remember how long she had been walking down the nightmarishly repetitive hallway, but every step filled her with a renewed sense of fear. Though she had no obvious reason to feel as if she was unwelcome, she knew on some level that she did not belong in this place--that she was an intruder. Beyond her displacement though, she also had the distinct impression that she was being pursued. Dread of that unidentifiable something tracing her steps caused her to quicken her pace, and she refused to look back though the curiosity of the unknown was almost worse than the fear._

_She was running by the time a doorway finally came into sight around the curve of the corridor. Rushing toward the exit and away from the nebulous thing chasing after her, she flung the door open eagerly, but froze in the doorway when she saw the dark room beyond it. Her fear of pursuit had evaporated, replaced by a greater terror--fear of the dark shape lurking within the room before her. The dim glow of the hallway behind was the only light in the room and it cast her shadow sharply across the floor._

_"Amon…?" she asked again, more uncertainly this time. _

_Something stirred in the shadows, but she could discern nothing of it but a vague shape. She took a faltering step forward. "Amon? Is that you?"_

_The vaguely human shape rose to its feet slowly, though it was still cloaked by darkness. She shifted on her feet, and a shard of light fell across the figure. It looked up at her through a serrated fringe of black hair and she shivered, finally deciding it was a man though his features were rather feminine. He actually did look a bit like Amon with his dark hair and ashen eyes, but she knew instinctively now that he was not. _

_The figure straightened and a sudden rush of air caught her off guard. Feathers the color of midnight drifted in slow motion toward the floor and Robin took a step backward when she made out the silhouette of wings, blacker than the darkness of the room._

_Hands grasped her arms from behind and she heard Amon's voice in her ear, whispering urgently. "Robin, you shouldn't be here. You must leave! Hurry!" He hauled her backward over the threshold and she followed enthusiastically, whirling around to face him. As she turned, his touch slipped away from her and she caught sight of his black coat as he disappeared from view._

_"Amon!" She spun around in a circle, trying to catch even a glimpse of his face, but she was now standing alone in a pool of light. "Amon, where are you?" she screamed, peering into the darkness beyond the light and hugging her arms to herself in an attempt to stop the sudden fit of shivers that had come over her. She needed him, though she wasn't sure why. "Amon!"_

_"What do you want?" Amon's voice was harsh and slightly annoyed. She opened her eyes slowly to find Amon standing before her, glaring down at her with an exasperated twist to his lips, his orbo gun cradled assuredly in his hands. _

_Robin blinked, watching as a firefly flickered through the darkness between them lethargically and floated away into the night. "Amon, what…?"_

_"We've secured the south corner," Karasuma's voice announced quietly in Robin's ear, startling her._

_Amon touched his headset and his eyes narrowed. "We're going to miss our target if we don't hurry." He glanced back at her. "Pull yourself together."_

_He stalked away, the tails of his coat catching in a warm breeze, and Robin watched his back with narrowed eyes. His voice was so cold it chilled her to the bone. She followed after him uncertainly, tripping over a few fragments of garbage scattered across the alley. Staggering against his back, she closed her eyes and held her breath, her hands tightening desperately in his coat; she didn't want him to slip away from her again._

_Amon turned and righted her on her feet with a brusque touch, scowling darkly. "Watch your step," he hissed. "Do you want to announce our presence to the witch?"_

_Swallowing her hurt as she watched him walk away again, Robin wondered why he needed to be so cruel. She had been searching for him all this time, but now that she had found him he treated her like a piece of trash, not unlike the garbage that had caused her to lose her footing. Or had that search only been a dream? She had been searching for him, but why?_

_"Because you're afraid you will never see him again." Robin turned at the sound of her own voice and saw a reflection of herself standing in the shadows at the other end of the alley and regarding her smugly. She knew then that if the search had been a dream, it had not ended. Her other self frowned, lifting her glasses from her face and folding them neatly. "And you're afraid he wouldn't want to see you even if you did find him. Amon hates witches, and your power is no longer the poorly trained craft it once was." _

_"I don't know what you're talking about," Robin whispered, stumbling backward in a hasty retreat._

_Her reflection crushed the glasses in one burgundy glove and smiled a small, cold smile. "That's good. It's better if you just forget."_

Robin sat up with a start, her breathing erratic and her skin damp with sweat. Still reeling from the disturbing imagery of her dream, she did not at first take note of her surroundings. When her pulse had slowed at last, though, she noticed that she was in bed--her own bed in the apartment she shared with Touko. This was not an extraordinary circumstance aside from the fact that she had absolutely no recollection of how she had gotten there.

Her head was throbbing. Rubbing gingerly at a temple, she tried to remember where she had been the night before. With a rush of panic, she realized she couldn't remember at all. She couldn't remember yesterday or the day before that--not specifically, at least. She remembered interrupting Amon and Touko in an intimate situation, but that felt like too distant a memory to have happened only the previous night. And yet, she could recall nothing after that memory. Perhaps it _had_ happened the day before, and it only felt less recent because of the numerous nightmares that plagued her during the night.

Shivering as the sweat cooled on her skin, Robin pulled the tangled blankets up around her and observed the complete normality of the room, unable to shake the feeling that she was forgetting something very important. The memories eluded her and she sighed in frustration, watching as the faint glow of pre-dawn painted the windows against the dark canvas of the wall in a gradient of eggshell hues. The details of her dream were already muting and fading into fuzzy half-thoughts and impressions, and when she tried to recall them more clearly they became even more indistinct.

Eager to put the nightmares behind her completely, she crawled inelegantly out of bed, her tousled hair tumbling forward over her shoulders and clinging to her neck and forehead damply. Most of the sweat had already dried on her skin, but she still felt sticky and slightly itchy, as if she had been tossing and turning in bed feverishly for a very long time. A small smile curved her lips. She knew the cure for that feeling at least.

She opened her closet and nearly shut it again immediately when she saw the unfamiliar clothes hanging in the dimly lit interior. Her feeling of disorientation intensified, but she reached for one of her usual black dresses with a shaking hand and hurried to the bathroom, pushing her fears firmly away.

Closing the door behind her with a glance toward Touko's closed door, Robin wondered if her roommate was home. Her stomach twisted at the thought that Touko might have stayed the night at Amon's apartment. Drowning her jumbled thoughts in the soothing drone of water as she turned the faucet on full blast, she stripped off her damp t-shirt and allowed herself to merely enjoy the warm mist rising from the water without thinking or worrying about her uncertain memories.

She was soon soaking in a delightfully hot bath. She had even indulged by using some of the lavender and mint bath salts Touko always kept beside the bathtub and lighting the small candles lining the shelf under the window. The water felt heavenly and the aroma was revitalizing in its own way, replacing the scent of ashes and sulfurous smoke that had been clinging to her senses since she awoke, a piece of her dream carrying over into reality.

She had nearly convinced herself that she no longer cared what she was forgetting at all so long as she could stay in the peaceful warmth of the bath when she heard an urgent knock on the door. "Robin? Are you in there?" Touko's voice asked clearly, a hint of panic in her voice.

"Touko?" Robin asked wonderingly, sitting up straighter. Though her shoulders and head were still the only parts of her body exposed to the air, she found herself feeling rather cold despite the temperature of the water. If her memory of interrupting Touko and Amon really had happened only the night before, she didn't relish this first encounter with her roommate.

Touko sighed. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Robin answered slowly, unsettled by Touko's question. "Touko, what…?"

"We'll talk when you get out," Touko said with relief obvious in her voice. "I'm going to get some coffee started."

Though she hated to part with the comfort of the bath, Robin was far too curious about Touko's explanations to linger any longer. She washed quickly, spending extra time on her tangled hair before mournfully watching the water drain away as she dried off. Slipping into her dress and twisting her hair up into its usual style, she regarded herself in the mirror unhappily, hating the childish confusion in her eyes.

When Robin emerged from the bathroom, Touko was standing in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. She turned at the sound of Robin's approach, her hand trembling slightly on the cup. Shifting awkwardly on her feet, she asked, "Would you like some coffee?"

Nodding silently, Robin crossed the room to her and took the cup from her hands, drinking in the rich aroma and imagining that the smell alone was enough to revitalize her. She cradled the warm cup in her palms as she folded herself into a kitchen chairs, sitting down on one of her bare feet to keep it warm and looking up at Touko through the veil of steam rising off the cup.

"Have you been awake long?" Touko asked uncomfortably, turning to pour some cream into her own coffee.

"An hour maybe," Robin replied quietly, taking a sip and smiling as the liquid warmed her throat. She was trying very hard not to think.

Touko slid into the chair next to her. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing here."

Robin blinked at her; that certainly hadn't been the first question on her mind. "This is your apartment," she replied carefully.

Touko smiled in response, her relief evident as the tension in her shoulders relaxed. "Yes. But after what happened with Amon…I'm sure you didn't expect to see me around right now."

Her breath caught in her throat as Robin realized that her first instinct must have been the correct one. It must have only been last night that she had walked in on Touko and Amon, and Touko was acting strangely because of the awkwardness of the situation. "I'm sorry, Touko. I didn't realize…"

"Don't apologize," Touko answered quickly. "He had every right to do it after what I did. I don't blame him--or you."

"I see," Robin said softly, even though she didn't. Robin's brows furrowed in confusion; she must not have fully understood the situation between Touko and Amon.

Touko sighed with a reassured smile. "I'm just so glad you're finally awake."

"Were you already awake this morning, then?" Robin was feeling thoroughly confused. Had Touko been up all night worrying?

Touko opened her mouth but did not speak, obviously a bit bewildered now as well. Before she could say anything, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "It's about time," Touko murmured with an exasperated smile. Pushing her chair back into place as she stood up, she informed Robin quietly, "That must be Dante."

Robin watched Touko hurry across the room to the door, taking another sip of coffee to counteract the icy chill of fear writhing in her stomach. Dante. The name seemed familiar, though she didn't know why. Memories skittered across her mind, but they stayed just out of reach and her feeling of uncertainty doubled. She knew without a doubt now that she was forgetting something important.

The door opened to reveal a strikingly handsome man clad in black leather and an intrepid red coat. His turbulent blue eyes immediately found hers, and his angular features were fraught with worry. Robin straightened in her chair, unsettled less by the unfamiliar sight of him and more by the immediate connection she felt with him through her craft. It was like an electric jolt through to her senses, and she realized that the worry she saw in his features was not as obviously manifested as she at first imagined. She was feeling his worry more than she was seeing it. Her curiosity intensified, but she tried not to let her utter confusion show, instinctively concluding that he could feel her emotions as clearly as she could feel his.

"Some bodyguard you are," Touko admonished the man she had referred to as Dante, further confusing Robin's understanding of the situation. "When did you slip out?"

"A few hours ago. I had some things to take care of," Dante replied impatiently. "Figures that she would finally wake up the moment I left." He smiled wearily at Robin and took a step into the room before Touko caught his arm sharply. Glancing back at her in confusion, he scowled when she gestured to his feet. Sighing, he leaned against the wall as he reached down and began unlacing his boots.

Touko did not always insist on their guests following Japanese customs, and Robin wondered why she had made a point of it with this man. But then, regarding him more closely as he removed his other boot and placed it next to the first, Robin decided that he, more than most, looked utterly ridiculous wandering around in his socks. Judging by the small smile on Touko's lips, she must have found the sight amusing.

Touko brushed past him as she shut the door and returned to the kitchen, her gaze lingering on him as she walked away. "What if the guy who's after her had shown up while you were gone? I couldn't have taken him on." Robin shivered, unable to fully absorb Touko's words past her confusion. Unbidden, the image of the dark, winged figure from her dream filled her mind.

"I wasn't that far away. I would have known if he was here."

"That's a relief," Touko replied dryly.

Dante pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and turned it around, sitting down on it backwards as his eyes focused on Robin. She felt vaguely uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. "So, how are you feeling, kiddo?"

"Disoriented," Robin replied honestly, placing her empty coffee cup delicately down on the table. She hesitated to reveal the degree to which she was confused, sensing that the news would disappoint him greatly; she didn't know why, but she felt that she didn't want to disappoint him, in much the same way that she never wanted to disappoint Amon. "But otherwise…I'm okay," she added, feeling a little guilty for skirting the truth.

Before he could reply, Touko interrupted, "Would you like some coffee, Dante?"

His nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. "No, thanks."

Her tone light and teasing as she looked at him over the open door of the refrigerator, Touko cooed, "I think we might have some chocolate milk if that would suit you better."

His gaze rolled over to meet hers, his expression darkening. "Do you have any beer?"

"A little early for that, don't you think?" Touko leaned lightly against the door, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Most definitely not." He shrugged. "Besides, early and late are very much a matter of perspective."

Touko raised an eyebrow as she shifted her attention back to the refrigerator. "Don't tell me you stayed up all night."

"Okay, I won't," Dante answered with a tight smile.

Touko's eyes returned their focus to him, though they were narrowed now with gravity. "I have a leftover bottle of Kirin."

"And that's beer, right?"

"Right," Touko replied with a smile, obviously taking his question as indication that he did indeed want the bottle since she pulled it out and shut the door with a slippered foot. Reaching into the drawer next to the sink, Touko found the can opener and popped off the lid before plopping the bottle down onto the table in front of Dante.

Dante regarded it doubtfully, but took a swig despite his obvious reservations. "Not bad," he announced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Robin watched the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment, her gaze bouncing back and forth between them like a ping pong ball between two paddles as they verbally sparred, though the sparring was far from adversarial--in fact, it seemed rather familiar and flirtatious. Considering Robin's most recent memory of Touko included her being lip locked with Amon, Touko's evident interest in this Dante seemed very out of place, though Robin was beginning to believe that she couldn't trust any of her own memories at this point. Regardless, the peculiarity of the interchange only added to Robin's feeling of displacement, so she chose to remain silent until one of them acknowledged her presence again.

"Well, I'll let the two of you talk. I have to get ready for work," Touko said, breezing out of the room--though not without trailing a finger over Dante's shoulders along the way. "There's more coffee if you want it, Robin," she called back over her shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dante shivered and glanced after Touko with only his eyes. "I swear, you do one nice thing for someone and they get the wrong idea…" he muttered. Returning his attention to Robin, he asked with a serious expression that didn't seem natural on his features, "So… how much do you remember?"

Biting her lower lip, Robin looked away from his weary eyes, her heart thumping so loudly in her chest she wondered if he could hear it. Either he was extremely perceptive or his question was merely an extraordinary coincidence. Swallowing, she glanced back at him hesitantly. "I…I don't really remember anything."

Sighing, Dante closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his lightly stubbled chin. "I was hoping you would remember most of the fight, at least. I kind of expected you to forget the last part, but I guess Beatrice took enough out of you to play havoc with your memories of the whole thing."

Robin forced herself to breath past the terror gripping her heart. She was obviously missing far more memories than she had originally thought, but she needed to know the truth. Placing her hand on the table as she leaned forward, her fingers brushed against his and she felt his emotions explode in her mind. He jerked away sharply, nearly knocking over the bottle of beer in his haste. Reeling from the sudden, intense wave of concern, frustration and exhaustion that had surged through her the instant she touched him she found herself unable to speak.

Swallowing, he took a deep breath and explained quietly, "Our connection is stronger than it was before. I've had to find a way to consciously block it in order to even function."

Drowning in her fear and confusion, she could no longer hold back her questions and they rushed out of her then in a panicked flurry. "Connection? How are we connected? I don't understand. Why are you guarding me? Who is Beatrice and what did she do to me? And why are you and Touko so surprised to see me awake?"

Dante's gaze snapped back to focus on her, and she could feel his shock clearly. "You mean…you don't even…? Wait a minute. Just what _do_ you remember?"

Heat rose to her cheeks. She couldn't tell him about her experience of interrupting Amon and Touko. "I'm not sure. I remember coming back to the apartment after visiting Michael at the office. But that's all." She hesitated, dreading the disappointment she knew she would see in his eyes as she added, "I'm sorry. I don't remember you."

To her surprise, disappointment was not the strongest emotion she felt from him--his anxiety and dread far outweighed his hurt. "You don't even remember…? Wow." He leaned back slowly, combing his fingers through his fringe of silver-white hair. "I expected some setbacks, but I have to admit, I didn't expect this."

"Please," she pleaded. "I need to know what happened."

Regarding her for several unbearably long, silent moments, he replied finally, "I don't know where to even start. I guess I'll just start with your last question. We're surprised to see you awake because you've been unconscious for three days."

"Three days?" Robin repeated faintly, a shiver running down her spine.

"Frankly, I was beginning to think you would never wake up. Amon and I were both convinced you were dead at one point--for all intents and purposes, you _were_ dead. But then...suddenly you were very much alive again, and glowing…and you saved my life. I don't know how to explain it. I was kind of hoping you would be able to explain it to me, but obviously that's not going to happen now."

"Amon…" Robin echoed quietly, relieved to hear his name mentioned, but uncertain what she should even ask about her enigmatic partner. Dante frowned at her, obviously unhappy that she seemed to be more concerned about Amon than the fact that she had apparently died and been resurrected, but Robin found that she needed something familiar to latch onto. The eerie sensation of being told extraordinary things about herself that she could not recall was simply too much for her to accept all at once.

"Listen, Robin." He paused, visibly regrouping his thoughts before continuing. "Amon…is missing."

----------

Karasuma sighed, resting her chin in her palm as she scanned through the latest news reports of the incident at the lake. The story hadn't quite reached the status of "old news" yet, but it was certainly falling from its top headline positioning to a point somewhere farther down the page. The articles told many conflicting accounts of exactly what had happened that night, all of them from supposed witnesses who observed the action from afar. But none of them were even close to accurate.

She knew she shouldn't be surprised. After all, any news related to witches or supernatural phenomenon perpetually fell victim to cover-ups by the government and Solomon as well as the deliberate spread of misinformation intended to confuse the truth. It had taken some doing, but she had finally confirmed her suspicion through her sources in her organization that Solomon had been involved in the air raid at the conclusion of the hunt, though she knew little more than that.

If she had had anything better to do, she wouldn't have even bothered reading the various inaccurate news articles scattered across the web. But that was the problem. She didn't have anything better to do.

The office had been rather melancholy since the final hunt on Beatrice. The day afterward, Karasuma had come into work expecting to be faced by a mountain of work. The work they had been delaying while they hunted Beatrice had to come back to haunt them sooner or later, and she had half expected it to explode in her face while they were down three hunters and still hurting over the way the hunt with Beatrice had gone.

To her surprise, Chief Kosaka had immediately announced orders from Solomon headquarters suspending all hunts at the STN-J until an investigation into Director Zaizen's actions could be completed. Karasuma had been stunned, but secretly relieved. Concentrating her efforts on finding out as much as she could about Robin's condition and Amon's and Doujima's whereabouts had been high on her list of priorities, but her research had not gotten her anywhere. Aside from work, Karasuma found she could do little more than worry.

Dante believed Amon was alive but that he had been forced through the portal into the underworld. Karasuma was a very practical person. Despite the fact that she hunted witches for a living and had unusual powers of her own, she was fairly levelheaded and logical. Thinking of the afterlife as a place you could simply visit and return from was a little too paranormal for even her, but she took Dante's word for Amon's location on the grounds that the half-demon claimed he had been there himself in the past. Still, she found that she was better off if she didn't think about it too deeply.

Karasuma could do little about Robin either, though she had contacted her organization for reassurance that Robin's condition was not dangerous. They had been unable to give her much. Robin was the Eve--Karasuma knew that much, at least--but exactly what it meant to be the Eve was far from certain. According to her organization, only a handful of people knew the truth at all. Nevertheless, they had vowed to investigate Robin's situation more thoroughly and get back with her. Even without assurances from them though, Karasuma could speculate from Dante's description of the fight that Robin's powers had awakened on a new level, and the process might have taxed her body beyond its ability to recover. Her hope was that Robin would wake up eventually when her body had recovered enough from the shock to cope.

The Director had not made an appearance since the hunt, a fact which had been more of a relief than a burden, though Karasuma had been rather curious about it. Michael had desperately wanted to know one way or another, and she had caught him standing at the window on more than one occasion, a wistful expression on his face as he gazed down at the street below. She had always empathized with him deeply in this respect; she had never liked how Zaizen kept him chained to the office. Michael was young and didn't deserve to be so cruelly caged for a mistake he had made without knowing the consequences.

The Director was no longer an issue, though, it seemed. Doujima's sudden reappearance in the office the day before had raised more questions than it had answered, but one answer it had made very clear was that, even if the Director had managed to survive, he was no longer in charge of the STN-J. This bit of news had made Michael nearly ecstatic, but had left the rest of them feeling strangely numb with the uncertainty of what would become of the STN-J hanging over their heads.

Doujima had returned, along with two hunters from Solomon headquarters, to begin the investigation into Zaizen's recent activities. According to Doujima, Solomon didn't like the idea of orbo and they especially did not like Zaizen's usage of it. To Karasuma's surprise, the agents from Solomon had not said a word about their cooperation with Dante and Trish, though they had mentioned Beatrice in passing. She could only conclude that Doujima had kept their involvement with the demon hunters hidden from Solomon--a fact that helped repair some of her shattered respect for Doujima.

Karasuma glanced at Sakaki. He was glaring defiantly across the office at Doujima while pretending to be interested in the empty browser window on his monitor. Karasuma had given up trying to talk to her partner about Doujima fairly early on since every attempt to do so only ended in an explosion of temper and a broken object. Karasuma had no desire to be at the other end of his fist. She could understand his feelings of betrayal--she would have probably felt the same way if she hadn't already known about Doujima's mission from headquarters--but the truth was that Doujima had only been doing her job.

Michael, on the other hand, had taken all of the news and changes rather well. Shifting her focus to his empty workstation with a smile, Karasuma wondered where he was at the moment. Michael had taken the morning off to do some shopping and she couldn't blame him. There was little they could do in the office at the moment, especially with agents from headquarters watching their every move, and he deserved some time to himself to just explore the outside world. She had half expected him to quit his job at the STN-J immediately upon Doujima's declaration of his freedom, but Michael had said he wanted to stick around at least until things got straightened out again.

The sound of the phone ringing startled her out of her thoughts. The number on the Caller ID was unfamiliar to her, but she answered it anyway; she didn't want one of the hunters from headquarters to answer it if the call was from Dante.

"Is Amon there?" a gruff male voice demanded with annoyance.

"May I ask who's calling?"

The man hesitated. "His lawyer," he answered smoothly a moment later, and though she had no idea what he looked like, she could almost visualize his smile.

She knew instinctively that he was not being entirely truthful with her. She didn't know why Amon would need a lawyer, and she certainly didn't like the timing of this man's call, so she decided to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid Amon is not here at the moment. Perhaps you should try his cell phone."

Karasuma was already in the act of hanging up when the man said urgently, "I've already tried that, but his cell phone seems to be disconnected. This is urgent, or I wouldn't be trying to reach him there."

"Who are you?" Karasuma demanded, a bit less pleasantly.

"The name's Nagira. Nagira Syunji. Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I really need to speak with Amon, whether he wants to talk to me or not."

Something in the man's tone sparked a fraction of pity in Karasuma; whoever this Nagira was, he seemed well acquainted with Amon and used to dealing with his anti-social quirks. "I really am sorry, but, as I said before, Amon is not here."

Nagira sighed deeply and she heard the harsh squawk of his chair as he sat back in it slowly. "Can you at least take a message for me?"

Karasuma frowned at the hint of desperation in his voice. "I could…" she admitted reluctantly.

"Something's happened to him, hasn't it?" Nagira said suddenly, the smile completely gone from his voice. "Is he hurt?"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Nagira, but I can't--"

"You can't tell me. Right. Should have figured."

The utter frustration in Nagira's voice made Karasuma feel vaguely guilty. "Amon will be unavailable for a while, but if you still want to leave him a message, I should be able to get it to him eventually." _I hope._

Nagira chuckled bitterly. "I don't think I have that much time. But that's okay. Typical Amon…shoves his responsibilities off on someone else when he doesn't want to deal with them, and then disappears when everything falls apart."

Karasuma raised an eyebrow. She knew for certain now that this man could not be Amon's lawyer. His tone seemed far too personal for such a professional relationship. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can do."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault." Nagira sighed again. "Listen, I'll be straight with you. I'm not Amon's lawyer-- though I _am_ a lawyer, just so you know I'm not a complete liar." He chuckled. "Though maybe that only convinces you that I am a liar after all, depending on your opinion on lawyers. Anyway, Amon's my half brother. Assuming he's still around somewhere, he'll probably kill me when he finds out I've been spreading that around, but I frankly don't give a damn anymore. I've been taking care of something for him, and I just need to let him know that I lost track of that something and that I have reason to believe it's in danger."

Absorbing this information slowly, Karasuma replied blandly, "That was ponderously vague."

Nagira laughed awkwardly. "He'll know what I'm talking about. It's pretty important to him. So, until I hear from him, I'm just going to do what I can to find it and keep it safe, but just so you know how serious this is, I'm in way over my head on this. This is Amon's area of expertise. And if Amon is just trying to avoid me, or is all caught up in something selfish, I swear I'm going to--"

"It's nothing like that," Karasuma answered quickly. "I will get him the message as soon as I can."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it." He paused, and she sensed his unseen smile again as he added, "And good luck."

Karasuma blinked in surprise. "I should be saying that to you."

"No, you're the one who works with Amon. He's a pain in the ass--I should know. So, good luck with him."

Unable to keep a sad smile from curving her lips, she replied, "Thanks. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Me too. Ciao."

"Who was that?" Sakaki was looking back at her over his shoulder, unable to hide his curiosity though he was still clinging to his bitter, petulant expression.

Karasuma shook her head soberly. "Someone looking for Amon. Nothing to worry about at this point." At least she didn't think it was anything to worry about, though she still didn't know what to think of it exactly. The idea of Amon having a brother was strange enough on its own, but to think that there would also be something so important in his life that his brother would go to such lengths to contact him about it…

Sighing, Karasuma glanced at the clock and noted with relief that it was nearly lunchtime. "Sakaki," she announced, "I'm going to check in on Robin over lunch."

"As usual," Sakaki muttered, shifting his attention back to his computer. "Let me know if she says anything interesting in her sleep."

Frowning, Karasuma rose from her chair and suggested, "Maybe you should just talk to her."

"She's been asleep for three days. I don't think she's going to talk back," Sakaki snapped.

"I wasn't talking about Robin." Karasuma shrugged her shoulder in Doujima's direction. "I was talking about _her_."

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "I'll talk to her when hell freezes over." Returning his gaze to his computer, he added dryly, "At least we'll have an eyewitness source in case that ever actually happens."

Placing a hand firmly on his shoulder, she recoiled when she felt the anger and hurt roiling through him. "Be careful of judging her too harshly," she warned quietly. He scoffed loudly, but did not reply. "I'll see you after lunch."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Gathering her things, Karasuma headed for the door, ignoring the watchful eyes of the hunters from headquarters. Growling softly under her breath, Karasuma frowned back at them. When and where she spent her lunch break was none of their business. She managed to catch Doujima's eyes, attempting to transmit her annoyance with their scrutiny silently. Doujima smiled faintly in what appeared to be sympathy and turned to engage one of them in conversation.

Karasuma's cell phone vibrated in her pocket as she stepped in the elevator and a thrill of anticipation rushed through her when she saw the phone number. Her organization must have finally found some solid information about the Eve.

----------

Doujima watched Karasuma leave sadly, wishing she could escape as well. Interactions with her former coworkers at the STN-J had been awkward since she revealed her mission from headquarters, but Karasuma had been more understanding than the others. Doujima's gaze drifted across the room and settled briefly on Sakaki's back before returning to the chief's computer.

"We're almost finished scanning through the footage from the security cameras," Desmond announced as he turned to face her. Of the two agents Solomon had sent to Japan to investigate Zaizen, Doujima got along with him the best. Desmond had a good sense of humor and an adorably lopsided smile--and he also seemed to have a bit of a crush on her. Doujima intended to use his interest to her advantage, but she had no advantage whatsoever over Desmond's partner, Telon.

"There were some significant gaps in the footage," Telon noted with cold suspicion in his voice. "At several points during the last two weeks, the cameras were turned off entirely. Do you know anything about this?"

Doujima smiled and shrugged, playing the village idiot once again; she had thought she would be able to drop the act once her true purpose at the STN-J had been revealed, but Doujima had more than a little loyalty left to Amon and the others. At the moment, headquarters was only interested in Zaizen's activities, but Doujima knew the STN-J hunters were possibly under suspicion as well--otherwise, their hunts would not have been put on hold. She intended to shield them as much as she could, and if that meant risking her own immunity to Solomon's suspicions then so be it.

"As I told you before, the Director had been acting increasingly angry and irrational over the last couple weeks. Amon and the others did not wish for him to know about all their activities since they feared he was no longer on their side."

"Pretty intuitive on their part," Desmond commented with his usual stilted grin. He nudged Telon with his elbow. "Wouldn't you say, Tel? I mean, they didn't even know Solomon was keeping an eye on Zaizen, but they knew enough to know he was trouble and keep their distance." His Irish accent was subtle most of the time, but occasionally it came through, especially when he was amused.

"From what I understand, not all of the members of the SNT-J were ignorant to Zaizen's plans. Zaizen seems to have brought the lead hunter, Amon, into his confidence at least. I wonder just how much he knew about orbo?"

Doujima frowned, biting her lower lip. She had a hunch that the others knew something more about Amon's current situation than she did since they did not seem to be grieving over his absence, but she had avoided asking too many questions. Ignorance gave her deniability, and since she didn't want to inadvertently reveal anything to Desmond or Telon that would jeopardize Amon's safety, she had decided she would let the others handle it on their own. Still, even with her belief that Amon was still alive, she didn't appreciate Telon's lack of tact. "Well, you can't ask him _now_, can you?"

"No, unfortunately." The only thing Telon seemed to find unfortunate about the fact that Amon was missing and probably dead was that it deprived him of the ability to interrogate him. "Either way, it would be useful to know exactly what activities were going on at the STN-J during these gaps in surveillance."

"We were searching for Beatrice, as I told you." Doujima crossed her arms over her chest, grateful for the reassuring smirk Desmond sent her way when he saw her frustration with Telon's repetitive questions. "Don't you remember my report?"

"Of course I do." Telon's fingers flew over the keyboard in an angry flurry. "But I sense you are holding something back. What can you tell me about this 'devil hunter' who joined forces with you?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Doujima attempted to school her features to indifference. She desperately wanted to keep Dante and Trish out of this investigation as much as possible. Though she couldn't be positive that the two demons had survived Solomon's attack, her instincts told her that they had--and that the other hunters at the STN-J were staying in touch with them. Doujima felt that she owed it to them to keep headquarters out of their hair after her own inaction had put them in so much danger.

"Dante?" Doujima forced a dreamy sigh. "Well, he didn't hang around after the Director forced us to cease cooperation with him. He helped us find Beatrice, but that's about it. It's too bad too, I wouldn't have minded having such pretty scenery around more often." Desmond raised an eyebrow at her, but Telon only glared at her with his cold, green eyes. "He never met Zaizen and I don't think he even knew what orbo was, so he wouldn't really be any help in this investigation anyway."

"I see," Telon answered quietly, letting the point drop. He turned back to face the computer. "I suggest that we focus on decoding Zaizen's personal records next."

"Excuse me," Hattori interrupted with an awkward smile, "would anyone like any tea?" Doujima was grateful for the distraction.

"Yes, thank you." Doujima plucked a steaming cup from the tray gratefully, blowing steam across the surface gently before taking a sip. She felt Sakaki's eyes on her again, but she cowardly avoided them and leaned back against the desk next to Desmond.

"So…" Desmond said quietly, taking a gulp of tea and grimacing when it burnt his tongue. "This Dante guy that made for such nice scenery…"

"Yes?" Doujima blinked up at him through her lashes and leaned closer, encouraging his flirtation for reasons other than her desire to keep him on her side. She knew Sakaki was still watching and a small, petty part of her wanted to make him suffer as he was making her suffer by withholding his forgiveness.

"Well, I was just wondering if--"

"Desmond," Telon snapped, typing more vigorously. "Fetch the hard drive we extracted from Zaizen's computer. I want to double check that we have disabled all the failsafes before we begin decoding the files."

Rolling his eyes, Desmond pushed himself away from the desk and drained his teacup with another wince. "Yes sir." Smiling jauntily back at her, he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the stairs to Zaizen's office.

"Careful with him," Telon warned, surprising her with the concern in his voice. "Desmond is a notorious heartbreaker."

Doujima frowned. Though Telon was a hard-nosed, by-the-books asshole--who reminded her vaguely of another hunter she knew--he did seem to have a heart after all. Still, she didn't like being patronized. "Are you suggesting I can't take care of myself?"

Now it was Telon's turn to frown. "I'm suggesting that we stick to business and keep romance out of it. I want to finish this investigation as quickly as you do." He paused and glanced up at her, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "I received a communiqué this morning from headquarters. They're sending a high ranking hunter to Japan to oversee the rest of this investigation and I don't want to disappoint him with our lack of progress."

"They are?" Doujima straightened, her tea sloshing in her cup. "Who?"

"Father Juliano Colegui."

"But I thought he had all but gone into retirement! Why are they sending someone like him?"

"I don't know, but it seems that finding out the truth behind Zaizen's activities has become an even higher priority than before."

She was digesting this information and staring blankly at the door when a young man walked through it and interrupted her thoughts. It took her several moments to realize that he was Michael. Gasping dramatically, she was on her feet and heading across the room toward him before her consideration for Sakaki could hold her back. "Excuse me," she murmured to Telon as she walked away.

From the moment she first met him, Doujima had been itching to know what Michael would look like with a decent haircut rather than the less than attractive mullet he was always sporting. She knew that his inability to leave the office had more to do with his lack of style than anything else, but she had always been curious if it was the only reason. Now she had her answer.

His hair was cropped short in the back and the sides, but still long enough on top to be messy. The hair stylist had also molded it into a short faux-hawk that Doujima found absolutely adorable--though she would never in a million years tell him that. Though she doubted Michael's own sense of style had been ultimately responsible for his new look, at least he had been aware that his previous look had been lacking.

"Michael!" she cried, grasping his wrist and pulling him to a stop so she could get a better look at him. "I can't believe it. You look so…cute."

Scowling, Michael raised an eyebrow at her. "Cute?"

"Handsome," Doujima revised quickly. "Manly. Whatever. In other words, you look good."

Michael hesitated, as if uncertain whether her compliment was authentic; a pang of hurt tugged at her heart as she realized just how deeply Michael distrusted her. "Thanks," he said, his hand ghosting over his hair self-consciously.

Doujima had almost managed to forget about Sakaki entirely when she heard him scoff loudly behind her and turn in his chair. "I'm out of here," he muttered and stomped by them on his way to the door. Doujima watched him leave sadly, aching for something to say that wouldn't make him even angrier.

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Michael said quietly, glancing furtively at her.

"Yeah."

----------

Pursing his lips, Dante rested his arms on the rough brick of the balcony outside Robin's apartment and blinked blearily down at the busy street below. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but eventually gave in to the dull pain pounding against his temples like a mallet against a base drum. He leaned wearily against the sturdy brick wall, resting his head against the cushion of his forearm. His demon blood could compensate for most injuries and ailments--from tiny cuts and bruises to broken bones and impalement on a sword--but, much to Dante's annoyance, mental and emotional exhaustion were not so easily healed.

He had slipped out onto the balcony shortly after Karasuma arrived, eager for some fresh air and an escape from the grueling task of explaining the past two weeks to Robin without distressing her further. He sucked at this kind of shit, and he ached for Trish's company and feminine sensitivity in dealing with emotional dilemmas. Hell, he ached for her, period. She had only been gone three days, but the uncertainty of their eventual reunion made the brief time feel more like three months. He wondered when he had allowed himself to become so attached to her. When had he become so dependent on her presence to make him feel whole?

He was nearly unconscious on his feet, floating in the hazy ephemeral world between waking and sleep, when he heard the sliding door swish open behind him. His internal clock guessed that it had been maybe fifteen or twenty minutes since he left the two women to catch up, but he couldn't exactly trust that clock when he was so close to sleep. The door slid shut, but he didn't move, half hoping the intruder had thought better of disturbing him.

"I guess even half-demons get tired sometimes, huh?"

Somewhat grateful that the intruder was not Robin, he shifted his head slightly so he could look up at Karasuma out of the corner of his eye. "You want something?" he grumbled, knowing he was being unconscionably rude but not really caring. Reliving the experiences of the last couple weeks through their repetition to Robin had been the final blow to his less than substantial capability for false friendliness.

She raised a brow at him. "Just to talk. Robin needed some time alone to absorb everything, and I have a few things I want to discuss with you."

He buried his face within the shelter of his arms again. "I think I'm all talked out. Robin wanted to know every detail of everything that happened since the moment we met. I'd half expected her memories to start coming back somewhere in the middle of it, but she has one serious case of amnesia."

He felt rather than saw her lean against the wall next to him. "Did you tell her every detail?"

He hesitated, considering her question. He had to give her credit for her discernment; she didn't miss much. "Not every detail. No."

"You didn't tell her about Amon, did you? About how close they've become…"

He turned his head so he could look up at her more easily; her expression was mildly wistful. "I figured it would only make things more painful for her. And it's not really my place to say anything anyway since I don't know exactly what happened between them."

She nodded. "I didn't say anything either. I thought it would be cruel--especially if we fail to bring him back. She doesn't need her memories to still have feelings for him though."

"I think she might be better off if she forgot those too. Amon has enough baggage to start his own luggage store. I have to admit I feel a little sorry for the bastard, but I still think it's worth giving Robin a second chance to decide."

Glancing at him with a slow smile, she replied, "That's one thing, at least, we're in agreement on."

"Hell, I think even Amon would agree with us."

"You think so?"

"Mm." An awkward silence fell, and Dante felt his exhaustion settling down on his shoulders again. His eyelids drifted slowly shut.

Karasuma's quiet voice startled him out of his drowsiness a moment later. "So, how's your search going?"

Chuckling bitterly, Dante straightened, pushing tangled strands of hair out of his face. "Just dandy. The place I was thinking of using to open a gate to the demon world is completely trashed after a recent earthquake, and the other places I found are all in major urban centers. I'm not about to risk thousands of peoples' lives just to open a damn door that I'd rather keep closed anyway."

"I wonder how long Amon can survive there…"

"Probably not long--if he can survive there at all. But I don't even know that much. I've hit the bottom of the barrel on likely places to open a gate to hell, and I don't even know where to begin finding another one. I have some sources back home that I could check with, but they don't do long distance customer service. If I want their help, I'll have to seek them out in person--and that is not going to happen until I know Robin can take care of herself. I'm not leaving her alone while that Lucifer fruitcake is after her." Dante could feel his frustration building; at some point during his monologue he had passed cranky and upgraded his mood to belligerent. He slapped his palm down on the wall with a scowl and found he didn't even mind the sting of the rough brick against his skin.

"And, to top it all off, I have no idea what's going on with Robin. I mean, it's a huge relief that she's finally awake and all, but she doesn't even remember me, or Beatrice, or her godlike powers. It could be nothing more than posttraumatic stress disorder, but what if it isn't? What if it's a side effect of using so much power? And what if those powers weren't her own in the first place? What if Lucifer _did_ do something to her, and she really _was_ dead--should be dead--but he brought a ghost of her back to serve his own purposes?"

"Dante," Karasuma said with a carefully constructed expression, speaking in a tone one would use to quiet a madman. "Calm down." She looked more than a little afraid of him as she touched his arm soothingly, trying to hide the way her fingers jerked reflexively just after making contact.

He brushed her touch away as he turned back to look down at the street below, though he wasn't really seeing anything but his own anger. "Don't worry. I'm not that far out of control. I just…I really hate feeling responsible for someone like this. I'm not cut out to be a father figure--or a big brother, or guardian or whatever. I don't like the thought of someone being dependent on me. That's why I've never had a pet--or even a plant. I'm just not good at taking care of things--and definitely not people."

"I'd say you're being too hard on yourself. You've done a good job of taking care of her so far." Karasuma's voice was soothing, but he wasn't in the mood to be soothed; her tone ended up feeling more like condescension to him than compassion.

He turned back to face her and she took a step away when she saw the fury in his eyes. "Have I? I let her _die_, didn't I? _She _protected_ me_, as I recall And I couldn't even find a way to bring her boyfriend back from hell before she woke up from her coma without any help from me. I haven't done anything but sit around here with my thumb up my ass for _three days_ while Lucifer could be out conquering the world for all I know--and I'm no closer to finding him than I am to finding the cure for cancer."

Karasuma's expression was one part maternal concern and three parts acute anxiety; she clearly did not appreciate playing therapist to his frustrations, but she seemed to be determined to help him get past it if she could. "There is nothing else you could have done, Dante," she said quietly. "Robin needed you here. You're the only one of us who has even a chance of protecting her from this new enemy."

"Who hasn't even shown his face," Dante interrupted snappishly.

"Perhaps because you _have_ been around the whole time! He could be watching and waiting for you to let your guard down. Who knows what might have happened had you actually left her alone?" Karasuma was beginning to lose her temper as well, and Dante wondered if Robin could hear them arguing from inside. He suddenly felt rather guilty for throwing such a childish tantrum.

Sighing, Dante scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to cool the rage burning in his veins before it called on his demon side. "Sorry," he muttered. "You're right. I'm just…wallowing."

"It's okay," Karasuma replied crisply. "I understand that it must be frustrating for you to be forced into such an uncomfortable position. But…I think I have some good news that will ease your mind a little."

"Oh?"

"I've…been doing some research into Robin's background, as well as the 'Eve,' the term Lucifer used to describe her. I don't claim to understand most of it, but it sounds as if Robin's birth was not a natural one. Her mother was involved in a genetic experiment of some sort." Dante narrowed his eyes, but allowed her to continue without interruptions. "The scientist in charge of that research is dead, but a woman who was a witness to the experiments is still alive and living in a town near Kyoto."

"Have you contacted her?"

"No. I only came across this information this morning, but from what I can tell, the knowledge she has about Robin is dangerous enough that any attempt to contact her could scare her into hiding. I think we'd be better off going to see her in person."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dante leaned back against the wall and nodded. "Can you get away from work?"

"I don't know why not. They're not allowing us to do our work anyway, and according to headquarters, the only one under investigation is Director Zaizen."

"Okay. Let's go talk to Robin about it."

Karasuma caught his sleeve as he took a step toward the door. "Dante. If you need to talk again, I'm here to listen. Robin is still connected to you, and I think she would drown in the strength of your emotions as they are now. It's better for both of you if you get them off your chest."

"I know," he murmured. "I've been trying to shield her, but I don't know how good of a job I've been doing." Forcing a smirk, he added, "But thanks. I might have to take you up on that offer. Maybe next time we could try a different kind of therapy."

Shaking her head with an expression of disaspproval--as well as perhaps a little regret for being so sympathetic toward him, she pushed open the door and walked back inside. "Don't push your luck."

"Is everything all right?" Robin asked in her quiet way when they were back inside. Her green eyes were filled with worry and Dante cringed inwardly, uncertain whether he wanted to know how much she had overheard.

"Everything's fine," Karasuma said with that soothing smile plastered across her face again; Dante was beginning to tire of it.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about babe," Dante added. Robin only blinked at him, and he wondered if he had said something wrong. "Well," he continued quickly, "how about you fill her in, Miho? I'm going to run down to the convenience store and pick up a few supplies for our trip." And another beer. He was definitely in need of another beer.

"Don't go too far," Karasuma cautioned.

"Yes ma'am."

**I know, I know… I still haven't gotten everyone back together yet. But, Robin did somehow get in touch with Amon's mind because she was in the same place at the beginning of her dream as Amon had been in his dreamworld. That's something, at least. Right? I'm sure I will be hearing much groaning over Robin's amnesia. Now, now. It's not necessarily permanent.**

**Did I fool any one even a little with the whole, "maybe it was all a dream" thing? Yeah, probably not, but I thought it was fun anyway. And Touko's such a slut. Not really. But, I think she's just one of those women who isn't confident enough in her self to deal with not having a strong man at her side. I think it's more subconscious than anything. **

**There was a lot of catch up in this chapter and I hope it wasn't too tedious. Not much Michael either, but there will be a bit more of him next time--though not in the next chapter. We need to check in with the peeps down in hell next chapter. I'd love to get it posted before my trip to Japan, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm leaving in a week and a half and I have a lot of last minute things to take care of before I leave. Still, I do have half of the next chapter written, so I might be able to get it up anyway. I'll do my best! Hooo! (That last bit was for Hard Gay fans.)**


	5. Leveling Up

**Author's Note: So...I intended to get this chapter up a very long time ago. It's funny how real life always gets in the way of fantasy life. My trip to Japan was absolutely awesome--even better than the first one, and I would love to tell you all about it except I think you'd probably rather that I worked on my story. But, you never know. Someday I might actually get around to updating my blog and talking about things from my trip even though it's been almost two months now. Keep your eyes peeled. **

**For now, though, it's story time. Part of the reason it took me so long to post this is because I decided to switch this chapter with the chapter that comes after it because it seemed to fit better. And then, somehow one chapter turned into three. The good part about that is that I have material for the next several chapters already written.**

**I apologize in advance for my geekiness in talking about Japanese snacks and beverages... (I got freaking hungry by the time I was done writing this chapter.) You must understand that I'm mourning for the lack now that I'm back in the States. **

**Chapter Five**

**Leveling Up**

Michael was trying very hard not to bounce in his seat like a small child on his way to Tokyo Disneyland. He tried to keep his half-insane grin of pure joy hidden away though it continued to tug insistently at the corners of his mouth, only further encouraged by the butterflies madly careening around his insides. The others must have guessed at his excitement, but he refrained from showing it for their sakes; after all, they had very little to be joyful about at the moment.

The train hurtled along the track into a tunnel and Michael allowed himself a small grin as the window went black for several moments before sunlight flooded into the car again and the train swooped up over a hill and back down into a valley. He glanced at Robin who was sitting in the seat across from him gazing wistfully through the window--though likely without seeing anything at all. That was too bad. She was missing the glorious view of Mt. Fuji rising up through a mirage-like haze of cloud.

Before his imprisonment in the STN-J, Michael had never really had enough money to travel beyond Tokyo. He had visited Kyoto once as a child, but his memories of the historical, once-capitol of Japan were vague and blurry at best. Though he doubted they would have even a moment for leisure while they were there, he was holding on to a small spark of hope that he would still get a chance to visit a shrine or two; after all, you could hardly take a step in Kyoto without tripping over one.

Regardless, he would keep his hopes to himself. He knew that he should be grateful that Karasuma had allowed him to come along in the first place--though he half-suspected she had sensed his eagerness to be included and merely indulged it. Michael had seen the confusion written on Sakaki's face when Karasuma asked him to stay behind instead of Michael. Even Michael had been amazed that she wanted him to come along; he had no practical experience in the field, and though Sakaki was still relatively inexperienced, he had been involved in enough hunts to know the routine.

Excitement was a given considering this opportunity to finally get out and see the world beyond the STN-J, but more than a little of his enthusiasm was due to his eagerness to prove himself as an asset beyond his abilities behind a computer. He felt that Karasuma had given him this chance for a reason and he intended to make the most of it.

"Well, that was an interesting experience," Dante announced as he slouched down into the empty seat next to Robin.

Karasuma looked up from the sheaf of research she had printed out before they left, regarding him with a raised brow. "Why do you think I stopped off at the bathroom in the station?"

Dante nodded, his lips curving up into his usual smirk. "Uh huh. Well, this is a pretty long train ride. Do you think you can make it to Kyoto without another bathroom break?"

Shrugging, Karasuma replied blandly, "I'll do what I have to, obviously."

Cocking his head and looking down the aisle at the one of the exits of the car, Dante commented with an exaggerated smile, "Oh, look. Here comes the concession lady with her cart. Maybe I should get some green tea or water or something. Do you want anything, Miho?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she answered serenely.

"Really? You don't want any coffee or tea? I know I sure am thirsty."

"Dante," Karasuma countered with a growl in her voice that Michael had only heard from her occasionally when Sakaki had done something particularly boneheaded.

Smiling to himself, Michael returned his attention to the endless vista of buildings merging from one city into another as their train dashed across the Japanese countryside. Even the sound of bantering felt refreshing and new when it was heard outside of the confines of the STN-J. Polishing off his last Crunky biscuit, Michael reached up to pull his backpack down from the shelf above them and search for his next snack.

"Damn, just how much food do you have in that thing?" Dante asked, peering into the backpack inquisitively as soon as Michael had unzipped it.

"Enough to last until we get to the next convenience store," Michael replied, rummaging around for his package of consommé flavored Pringles. "Food on the train is expensive."

Karasuma shook her head brusquely and rearranged her papers. "True, but why on earth do you need so much?"

"It's not a matter of need," Michael answered with a shrug. "I've been limited to only the kinds of snacks Doujima was willing to pick up for me over the last several years. Half the time she came back with boring, healthy stuff and soy substitutes. I think she did it just to mock me." Pulling the aluminum back from the lid of the Pringles can with a blissful sigh, Michael drank in the salty aroma. "My body is yearning for real fat and grease."

"That's disgusting," Karasuma muttered just as Dante said, "Hm, that smells good. Can I have one?"

"Sure." Michael offered him the can somewhat reluctantly. "You want one, Robin?"

Robin seemed startled by his question, dragging her attention away from the window with evident effort. "Um...no, thank you."

Michael found himself wanting to keep her interest, not wanting to let her to slide back into her obviously lonely and likely unhealthy train of thought. "What about these?" he asked, digging through his bag again. "I bet you'd like them." Pulling out a package of Crunky Popjoys and imagining the fanfare that always played when Link opened a treasure chest in the Legend of Zelda, he presented it to her with a smile. "They're really good." Without giving her a chance to respond, he opened the bag and snatched her hand away from the window gently, pouring a few chocolate morsels into her palm.

"More Crunky?" Dante asked through a mouthful of Pringles. "That's the third kind I've seen you eat today. Crunky has to be the stupidest name for a candy bar I've ever heard in my life, but it doesn't seem to be holding them back from making a billion different kinds." He returned the Pringles to Michael but paused, looking down into his backpack again. "Are those rice crackers?"

Making a noise of disgust, Karasuma slid down in her chair and huddled behind her papers as if embarrassed. "You'd think that the two of you hadn't eaten in a year. Did neither of you eat lunch before we left?"

Completely ignoring her, Michael answered Dante's question. "Yeah, but watch out. They're wasabi flavored. I have some miso flavored crackers in here somewhere too."

"You're going to make yourselves sick," Karasuma remarked, attempting again to be noticed.

"Michael?" Robin asked in her quiet way, her expression much brighter than it had been a few minutes before. "Can I have a few more?"

"Of course," he answered, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Take the bag."

Karasuma finally managed to interrupt their eating frenzy, though not in the way she would have liked.

"Was that your stomach?" Dante asked her with exaggerated incredulity. "Here. Have a rice cracker."

"No," Karasuma said quickly, adding, "thank you," as an obvious afterthought. "I brought a snack."

He grinned, munching on another cracker. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." She reached into her purse and pulled out a small package Michael had the unpleasant experience of recognizing.

"A SoyJoy? Ugh... Doujima used to pick those up for me. She called them a treat." Michael shook his head.

"They _are_ a treat. They're flavorful and full of nutrients," Karasuma protested, opening the package and delicately taking a bite.

"It looks like corrugated cardboard," Dante observed candidly.

"And tastes like wood shavings," Michael added knowingly.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Karasuma shuffled her papers again and said curtly, "Do you think I could draw your attention away from food for a moment so that we can discuss something that's actually important?"

"Food _is_ important," Dante stated drolly.

"I won't argue with you," Karasuma said seriously, "but I think we all know how much _more_ important the purpose of this trip is."

"Fine. You win." Handing the bag of rice crackers back to Michael and brushing the crumbs off his hands, Dante settled back into his seat with a sigh. "So, what do you want to discuss?"

"I think we should check into our hotel as soon as we arrive in Kyoto, and then go immediately to see Hamada-san."

"Tonight?" Michael was unable to completely hide his disappointment. He had been hoping for at least a little time to slip away for sightseeing before they got down to business.

"Yes," Karasuma answered quickly. "We have little enough time as it is. I don't think we should waste any of it before meeting with her and finding out what she knows. If this is a dead end, we need all the time we can get to search for our next lead."

"Well, if you're that eager to move the main event of our trip up to tonight, I think I'm going to take full advantage of the rest of this train ride," Dante said sourly, adjusting his seat so he could get more comfortable. "Kick me if I start snoring."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem." Karasuma smiled as she returned her attention to her research.

Crossing his arms over his chest and slumping down in his seat, Dante scowled at her. "Just don't kick me too hard, okay? I'm cranky when I first wake up."

Sensing their moment of joviality coming swiftly to an end, Michael glanced desperately at Robin, only to find she was already far away again, gazing through the window with a serious expression. Somehow Michael knew it would be more difficult to bring her out of her reverie this time, so he decided to just let her be.

Resigning himself to his situation, he rummaged around in his bag for the Nintendo DS he had purchased on his shopping excursion to Akihabara before they left. At least Mario could keep him company for a little while.

------------

Dante raised an eyebrow at the dubious vending machine. "What are you doing here?" he asked the poor quality picture of Tommy Lee Jones plastered to the side of the Suntory BOSS vending machine.

"He's the boss," Michael said, responding to Dante's rhetorical question with a smile--it seemed that the hacker was incapable of not smiling at the moment. "Hm, what are you going to get?"

Shrugging, Dante said dismally, "I don't see any beer in this one." Honestly, he wasn't even thirsty, but he still might have bought a beer had he seen one in the machine. Karasuma had been uptight all day and her bossy manner was grating on his nerves, but his frustration with her obsessive-compulsive tendencies did little to distract him from the real source of his need for alcohol. Though Karasuma had allowed him to unload some of his concern for Robin, the girl's constant lackadaisical expression and unfocused gaze was quickly filling up his worry meter again. Robin floated around beside them like a puff of cumulus cloud that hadn't gotten burnt off by the sun yet, and though she had always been quiet, her current silence was far emptier than usual.

"Well, if you're looking for alcohol, you could try one of the vending machines over there." Michael said thoughtfully, pointing down the street. "And it looks like there's a Kirin machine across the street. I'm sure there will be a couple more machines in the next block too."

Dante turned in a slow circle as he took in the array of vending machines. "Doesn't that seem like a lot in one place?"

Shoving two hundred yen into the machine, Michael replied, "This is Japan."

Dante didn't see a point in arguing with that one. "So, what are you getting?" he asked out of pure boredom, making a bet with himself as to which drink would appeal to Michael. He had his money on the can labeled flamboyantly as "Bubbleman Grape."

"Calpis." Michael's smile broadened as he punched in a set of numbers.

"Cow what?" Dante asked in disbelief, searching for the drink inside the display window.

Pointing to the bottle as he pulled it out of the machine, Michael elaborated, "C-a-l-p-i-s. It has nothing to do with cows."

"It looks a little milky," Dante pointed out. "But I think you would have been safer with this one." He pointed to a bottle of orange liquid he had discovered on his second appraisal of the vending machine. "It says it's 'Mama's Happy Choice.' Mama wouldn't lead you astray, now, would she?"

"Excuse me," Robin said quietly, her voice so unobtrusive Dante didn't even register that it was being directed at him until he felt her brush against him as she squeezed between him and Michael. Eagerly shoving some yen into the machine and punching a few numbers, she turned around a moment later with a bottle of iced coffee cradled in her hands. Dante found himself smiling in sheer relief at her small act of normalcy.

"Needing a coffee fix, huh, babe?"

Robin nodded quietly, sipping at the coffee drink with a contented expression. He was being too careful in keeping their connection subdued to allow himself a peek at her emotions to see if she was really as contented as she appeared, but he was satisfied with her expression at least.

"Are we all ready to go?" Karasuma asked impatiently, leaning into the group suddenly. Tapping her watch, she added, "If we don't hurry, we're going to miss our train." Without giving them a chance to respond, she walked off in the direction of the station.

"As if there won't be another one in ten minutes," Michael muttered, following after her with a shake of his head. Even when obviously annoyed he wasn't capable of wiping the perpetual grin off his face.

Dante began following as well, grateful for his increased freedom of movement now that they had deposited their bags at the hotel. He had only taken two steps when he noticed that Robin was still standing next to the vending machine and sipping at her coffee with a blank expression. She was all spaced out again; he wasn't sure if it was her amnesia or the instability of her powers causing these episodes, but either way, he didn't like it. Pausing, he prompted gently, "You coming, babe?"

She blinked at him and then nodded wordlessly, following without hurrying her steps and catching up only because he was not moving. "Dante?" Her eyebrows were furrowed and her expression even more serious than usual, but at least it was no longer dazed.

"Yeah?" Dante managed to say with a modicum of patience; he was not exactly a patient man by nature, and dealing with a less-than-aware Robin was taxing his capabilities considerably.

"Do you think the things Karasuma discovered about my past are true? Do you think I am this 'Eve' she was talking about?" Her hands tightened on the bottle of coffee and she looked up at him out of the corner of her eyes.

Dante glanced around the street warily searching for listening ears, but he was grateful that the bicycles crowding the sidewalk prevented anyone from walking too closely to them. "I don't know," he answered finally, "but I think that no matter what you might find out about yourself, you are still Robin, and that's all that matters." He wasn't sure that had actually made any sense at all, but she seemed to be comforted by his words at least. Frankly, he was surprised that she had asked him the question in the first place; with her missing memories, he was barely more than a stranger to her.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but hesitated, glancing at him furtively before closing her mouth again slowly.

"What is it?" he asked hesitantly, uncertain if he really wanted to know.

"I...I wish Amon was here."

Nodding while trying not to cringe, he said quickly, "We'll get him back soon. It must be rough doing all of this without your partner." He felt only vaguely guilty for referring to Amon only as her partner.

She seemed startled by his response. "It's not that. It's just...he always seems to know what to do," she said sadly.

_Yeah. And I obviously don't have a clue at the moment_. Shaking his head, Dante muttered, "Yeah, well...he does always have an opinion, at least."

Robin regarded him thoughtfully before asking, "Do you and Amon get along, Dante?"

Trying very hard to repress the laughter building in his chest, Dante managed to answer curtly, "Well, I am connected to him in the same way I'm connected to you. That counts for something, right?"

"But you don't get along?"

Choosing his words carefully, Dante replied, "Let's just say that Amon and I have very different approaches to life...and work...and just about everything, really. But you don't have to worry. I intend to bring him back in one piece, if I can. I don't like winning battles by default. It's unsatisfying." Quickly backpedaling when he saw her worried expression, he added, "But I do respect him on a professional level, I guess. He's obviously good at what he does. I'm sure that if any human could survive in the underworld, he could."

Nodding, she glanced across the street with a pensive expression. "I wish I could remember," she murmured. "It's frustrating having to ask things that I should already know."

"Don't worry about it," Dante said quickly. "Ask anything you want."

A mischievous glint entered her green eyes as she looked back at him. "In that case, do you like Karasuma-san?"

Lost momentarily in relief that she was showing more life than she had all day, he was caught completely unprepared for her question. "Like her? You mean, as in _like_ like her?" Dante felt like beaning himself on the head for his ridiculously immature response.

"You are always teasing her. I just thought that you might..."

"Uh...no. Not really." Dante shook his head at the awkwardness of the situation, looking down the street at Karasuma's back with a smirk. "She's cute, but I'm not into her."

"Oh." Robin actually sounded disappointed.

"Since we're talking relationships, what about you and Michael?" Dante found himself asking before he had followed the train of thought through to completion. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he also knew he would probably never get a better opportunity to bring up the topic, and he was all for encouraging her interest in anyone other than Amon.

"Michael?" Robin repeated uncertainly.

"Well, he certainly seems to be interested in you."

Robin swallowed and looked away again, a blush washing over her face. "I hadn't noticed." She was a terrible liar, and even without their connection he would have known she was not being entirely truthful.

Shrugging, Dante added encouragingly, "He's a good kid. You should give him a chance."

"We're almost there," Robin said, eagerly changing the topic when she saw Kyoto station looming ahead of them. "I hope the trip won't be too long."

"Yeah," he agreed with a sigh, "me too. I've about had it with trains today. I'd heard about girls getting groped on the subways here in Japan, but I swear someone grabbed my ass when we were smashed on that express train to Tokyo Station. I might have grabbed the culprit and taught her--or him--a lesson if I had been able to move."

A small smile softened Robin's serious expression, and Dante found himself smiling as well. He found making Robin smile to be a satisfying endeavor--perhaps because it was a bit of a challenge, and Dante never backed down from a challenge.

-----------

The sun was setting by the time they finally found Hamada Kasumi's house. Judging by the address and the map that Michael had pulled up on his computer during their trip, her house had been a quick walk from the station, but they hadn't taken their communal lack of direction into account. Dante claimed that he usually had a good sense of direction but that something about the way buildings ran together in Japan confused his senses entirely. Robin had to admit she often felt equally befuddled, though she had spent far more time in the country than he had.

Either way, they had managed to come out on the wrong side of the station and had searched for the correct street for twenty minutes before finally realizing their error. It hadn't helped that Hamada's house was in a quiet neighborhood with more dead ends than straight-through streets. While such confusion might have made sense in one of the busy stations in Tokyo, it seemed strange for them to get so lost in such a small town.

Nevertheless, Robin had enjoyed the delay. She knew she should be excited at the prospect of finding out exactly what had happened to her and what could be done to repair her broken memory, but she actually found the possibility to be terrifying. She knew that her companions hadn't told her everything that had happened during the gap in her memories, and she was worried about what kinds of things they would have decided to omit. From what they _had_ told her, it had not been a very pleasant week and she doubted that her missing memories would be good ones.

Beyond her fear of learning the truth, she was also feeling another more tenuous fear. She had sensed something strange in the vicinity as soon as they stepped off the train onto the platform--a power she could not identify. Though she had been hunting witches for years, she had never felt anything like it before; it was as if a certain power was calling to her directly. Her instincts told her that the power belonged to Hamada, and every step they had taken toward Hamada's house had increased the feeling tugging gently at her. She was nearly tingling with the sensation now that they were standing before Hamada's door, and she was surprised no one else seemed to have noticed the energy practically thrumming through the air.

"Well, this is it," Karasuma said unnecessarily, hesitating, her eyes focused on the doorbell but her hands making no moves toward pushing it.

"Seems that way." Dante glanced at her curiously before jabbing the doorbell himself.

Jumping slightly in response, Karasuma watched the speaker warily as they waited for a response. Robin shifted on her feet beside them, her hands clenching in her skirts. Michael smiled encouragingly at her and she managed a small half-smile in return, though she really wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and run.

Just as Dante was about to push the doorbell again, the door swung open suddenly to reveal a plump, unassuming woman wearing an apron, her silvered hair pulled back into a chignon. "Well, there you are finally," she said simply, regarding them all in turn. "You're late. Dinner's already getting cold."

Karasuma's jaw dropped and she bowed quickly. "Ah, excuse me...are you Hamada-san? I'm sorry to disturb you..." she trailed off uncertainly when the woman chuckled richly, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I am. But you needn't worry about formalities. Come on in. I've been waiting for you all afternoon." Her dark eyes settled on Robin for a moment and any doubt she might have been harboring about the source of the power in the air evaporated.

"Waiting for us?" Robin repeated tentatively.

"Yes, of course," Hamada replied disarmingly. Though the idea seemed impossible, Robin felt that the woman's assertion was undeniably true; she had never met a clairvoyant before, but she knew that Solomon had at least one such craft-user currently in their employ. From what she had heard, most clairvoyants went mad before they were able to take control of their craft, so the ability was very rare. "You must have felt me calling for you from the station," Hamada continued, sending shivers down Robin's spine with her knowing smile. "But, I suppose you just weren't quite ready to face me, were you, dear?"

"Wait a minute," Dante interrupted, and Robin could feel his disquiet through their connection as he stepped halfway between her and Hamada with a casual air that belied his apprehension. Though she barely knew him, she found that his proximity made her feel safe and she relaxed a fraction. "Let's back up to the part about you looking into your crystal ball and seeing us walking through a field of poppies. I don't recall making a reservation, so how exactly did you know we were coming?"

"All will be explained in due time," Hamada said gently, "but dinner's waiting, and I know you must be hungry after all that searching you did for my house. Robin-chan sent all of you on a wild goose chase, it seems, but she can't help it, the poor dear."

"How did you know her name?" Michael asked with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Probably the same way she knew we were coming," Dante muttered.

"Let's not speak of such things on the front stoop," Hamada suggested a little more firmly. "My neighbors are insatiable gossips." She retreated through the door and gestured for them to follow. "Come on in. Your questions can wait a bit, and the answers will be far more palatable on a full stomach."

Karasuma shared a worried glance with Dante before following the woman uncertainly through the door. "I don't think we have much of a choice at this point," she murmured to him, though her comment held a question within it, as if she was hoping he could come up with another choice.

Dante shrugged. "A free meal's a free meal," he said reassuringly, though Robin noticed he was careful to keep himself between her and Hamada.

"Now, I'm not sure if all those will fit you," Hamada said kindly, indicating the slippers lined neatly inside the door. "It's been a long time since I've had so much company." She was watching them all with a smile that suggested she had heard every word Dante and Karasuma had exchanged. Her dark eyes seemed to see everything even when she was looking away.

The forceful nature of Hamada's power had faded since their arrival, and Robin was beginning to understand what she had meant about her "call." Hamada had been sending out a beacon to her with her craft, hoping she would follow it to the source. No one else had noticed because the signal had been directed at Robin alone. Though Robin had not realized what she was doing at the time, she must have been leading her companions astray on purpose, keeping them lost since she had been afraid of meeting the source of the power she had been feeling.

"This way now," Hamada prompted when they had finished, ushering them into a small, cozy kitchen. A traditional Japanese table was already set with just enough place settings for each of them, and the aroma of various spices made the room warm and welcoming. "Have a seat."

Despite her reservations, Robin felt her stomach growling as the smell tantalized her senses. She took a place at the table without another thought and watched her companions follow her example more reluctantly. Both Michael and Dante relaxed a little, though, when Hamada began filling bowls with rice and chicken. Karasuma scowled at them, obviously irritated that they would allow themselves to be so easily distracted by food.

"Now, eat up," Hamada announced. "There's plenty for everyone."

As Hamada placed the last bowl in front of Michael, Robin noticed with a chill that she had predicted their actions down to which places they would choose at the table. Western silverware had been laid out beside her bowl and Dante's, while Karasuma's and Michael's settings were equipped with chopsticks. On one level she was uneasy with Hamada's apparent knowledge of the future, but she thought Hamada had proven her thoughtfulness by these details at the same time.

"Wow!" Michael sighed after shoveling half the contents of his bowl into his mouth without pause. "This is so good!" Robin watched him with a faint smile, knowing his enthusiasm had as much to do with the fact that he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in years as it had to do with the flavor of Hamada's cooking.

Hamada acknowledged his compliment in typical Japanese fashion. "No, no. It's only donburi. It's nothing special."

"I don't know. It tastes pretty damn good to me," Dante said resolutely.

Karasuma, on the other hand, picked at her food as if she did not entirely trust it to be unpoisoned. She seemed too distracted by her unanswered questions to enjoy it regardless, her eyes darting up to look at Hamada frequently.

Either picking up on Karasuma's impatience or simply deciding on her own to get down to business, Hamada finally began talking. "Now that we're safely inside, I suppose I should explain myself, shouldn't I? Well, as you might have guessed, I have a rather unusual ability. I can occasionally see into the future. Though my powers are intermittent at best, when they work they work very well and very precisely. I had a vision the other day about your visit here today. I don't know all the details, but I know that you are here because of Robin-chan, and I know that she is the Eve."

Placing her chopsticks neatly across her bowl, Karasuma narrowed her eyes at Hamada. "But do you know what it means to be the Eve?"

Hamada smiled slowly. "I know far better than you do, I'm sure, considering I was there when Robin was born."

Robin straightened, unable to hide her curiosity. It was true that she had felt disconnected from reality ever since waking up and discovering her missing memories, but the lack of information surrounding her birth was a mystery she had lived with her entire life. The most she had ever known about it was that she was an orphan and that one of her parents must have been a witch or a seed, at the very least. She had always suspected that her parents had both been witches and that they must have been hunted while she was still a child.

"Do you know what's happening to her now?" Dante asked before Hamada could continue.

"Her true powers are finally awakening." Hamada frowned, her brow furrowing as she shifted her gaze to Robin. "Your grandfather was worried that this day would come. He was worried about what you would do with your powers."

"My grandfather?" Robin looked down at her half-eaten bowl of donburi, realizing she no longer felt hungry in the slightest.

"Yes." Hamada paused, reaching for Michael's empty bowl and refilling it with another generous portion. "You already know him," she continued after returning his bowl to him, "though not by that title."

Robin looked back up at Hamada swiftly, holding her breath.

Hamada smiled kindly. "Father Colegui helped to raise you, but he didn't want you to know anything about your birth. He was afraid that the knowledge would make you awaken more quickly."

Robin found herself smiling; though she had not expected the answer, she realized as soon as she heard it that some part of her had always known the truth. Father Juliano had always been so kind to her, and she had always felt a deeper connection with him than she had any reason to feel.

"What did _you_ think?" Dante asked Hamada coolly, and Robin felt a chill replacing the warmth from Hamada's revelation. "Were you afraid of her awakening?"

Chuckling softly under her breath, Hamada replied, "I was only an assistant at the lab where Touda was conducting his experiments, and only marginally involved in Robin's...creation. I don't think Fr. Colegui was even aware of my existence, so my opinion clearly did not count for much, but I did disagree with him."

"You used the word 'creation.'" Robin said softly, reluctant to ask the question, but unable to deny her need to know the truth.

"I did," Hamada agreed, regarding Robin compassionately. "But let's not jump in with both feet just yet. I know these things must be difficult for you to hear. There's something I want you to know before I say anything else. Your mother called you 'hope,' Robin. She believed you would become a source of hope for a great many people, and that your powers would help you make that hope a reality. I know you must be frightened by all of this--it must be terrifying to have your identity turned upside-down so suddenly, especially with your missing memories. But I believe, as your mother did, that your powers are a gift and that you will know how to use them best."

"Please," Robin began slowly, placing her fork down on her plate and looking up at Hamada imploringly, "I need to know the truth. Why was I created? Why does Fr. Juliano fear my powers?"

Sighing sadly, Hamada replied, "I don't have complete answers to all of your questions, but I can tell you what I do know."

----------

Dante poured himself another cup of sake. Hamada had paused in the middle of her story to clear the dishes away and offer them all some tea or sake and Dante had eagerly accepted the latter, but now her story was nearly concluded and his sake was nearly gone. He wondered if it would be rude to ask for more. Her narrative had only intensified his need for alcohol.

According to Hamada, Robin was intended to be some kind of savior for the ever-persecuted witches. Dante was a little fuzzy on all of the more scientific details, but he understood that much of her purpose had to do with the fact that she would be able to pass her abilities on to future generations--hence the name "Eve." What those abilities were was the fuzziest thing about the whole story, though--even the guy who created her hadn't seemed to know the nature of her true powers. That was the part that worried Dante, and the reason he was in need of more sake.

Draining his cup and slapping it down on the table, Dante concluded, "So, basically what you're saying, is that you have no freaking clue what Robin can really do, or what she should be able to do or how she can control doing it?"

Hamada turned that ever reassuring and patient smile on him again. "Nothing about Robin's abilities is certain or predictable--even for me--but I believe I can try to help her gain control of them if she will let me. Working for Solomon, I know that most of you might not understand why I would be so sympathetic toward witches, but I have seen both sides and come to the conclusion that witches are not always what they have been made out to be. Because of this, I have helped a number of Seeds gain control over their craft and avoid Solomon's hunters."

"Why are you telling us all of this?" Karasuma asked warily. "You know that we are hunters ourselves."

"I'm telling you because I believe I might be able to help Robin in the same way." She paused, and her smile widened. "And I know that you, at least, would not reveal my secrets to Solomon, would you, dear?"

Karasuma fell suspiciously silent and shifted her gaze to the table.

"So, what exactly do you intend to do?" Dante asked, shaking his head slightly to clear it. Maybe he had had enough to drink after all; he was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"I will need to sit down with Robin and test some of the limits of her abilities," Hamada explained pensively. "My craft will warn me if things are getting out of hand, so you needn't worry about that. I know a number of exercises and techniques for gaining control of one's powers that work the same for anyone regardless of their craft."

"Can any of us do anything to help?" Michael asked with mixed eagerness and uncertainty.

"The less distractions we have the better, so I think this is something we should do alone, if Robin is willing."

"Do you think my memories will come back if I gain control of my new powers?" Robin asked tentatively, as if afraid of the answer.

"I don't know. I have not seen anything about it in my visions, and I'm not sure if your memory loss was caused by your true powers awakening or if it was brought on by some other kind of trauma. If the two are related, it's possible that controlling your powers will bring back your memories."

"These exercises are bound to draw attention," Dante noted, threading his fingers through his hair. "Do you think we should really be raising power out in the open like this?" He leaned back, resting a hand on the tatami mat behind him and trying to focus on Hamada. Something wasn't quite right. His forehead felt hot and clammy--even to his own touch--and he could distinctly feel a flush on his cheeks. He didn't think he was drunk; he had heard it was easy to get drunk on sake, but he could hold his alcohol far better than the average man.

"As I mentioned before, I have helped other craft users in a similar way. Because of that, I have shielded my house fairly thoroughly to hide such activities, but I realize that Robin's powers are far stronger than anything I've dealt with before. Thankfully, we are in a fairly secluded area--Solomon doesn't have much of a presence here."

"What about Lucifer?" Karasuma asked, shifting her attention to Dante.

"I imagine he knows where we are at all times," Dante replied, unable to smooth the edge out of his voice. "I just hope he's not ready to make his move yet. Either way, I don't think we have much of a choice. It's not like we have a dozen teachers lined up and eager to help Robin out." His head was starting to spin, and he allowed his eyes to slide shut. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"Are you okay with this arrangement, Robin?" Karasuma asked.

"Yes," Robin replied simply.

"When should we get started?"

"As soon as possible, I should think."

Dante listened to the exchange silently, noting that his senses were not behaving properly; their voices sounded distant and muffled, as if they were speaking from the other end of a tunnel. Just as he was starting to feel truly concerned by his state, a jolt of pain shot through him like liquid fire burning through his veins. Choking back a cry of pain, he managed to return his attention to the conversation still continuing around him.

"Does anyone have any other questions?" Hamada asked with her kindly smile, but it seemed almost sinister to Dante when he looked up at her through squinted eyes. He felt as if she were directing that smile toward him alone, and he mentally kicked himself. How could he have let his guard down so completely?

"Yeah. Just one," Dante said hoarsely. "What the hell did you put in that sake?" He was the only one who seemed to be having this strange reaction, and he was also the only one who had drunk any sake.

Everyone's attention immediately shifted to him before swiftly returning accusatorily to Hamada.

"It's nothing fatal, I assure you," Hamada said calmly. "Just a little poison to subdue your demon blood for the evening." Dante didn't even bother wondering how she knew he was a half-demon; at this point, it seemed there was very little she didn't know about any of them.

Karasuma's eyes widened and her hand reached instantly for her orbo gun. "Explain yourself, now."

"Calm down." Hamada raised a hand slowly toward Karasuma. "Put that away. You won't need it. I mean you no harm."

"Yeah? I'm feeling a bit of harm here," Dante hissed.

"The effect is only temporary, though I do apologize for the side affects of the poison. I'm told they are quite unpleasant."

"Why would you do this?" Robin asked pleadingly, and Dante realized that she felt personally guilty for what Hamada had done. He suspected that she had allowed herself to trust Hamada even more than he had, and therefore felt even more betrayed.

"Because the exercises you must go through to gain control over your powers will undoubtedly call on his demon side through his connection to you," Hamada said in her kind, gentle tone. "I had to do it for your own safety."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Karasuma demanded, her gun still raised.

"I knew you would object, but this is the only way."

"Fuck yeah, I would have objected," Dante growled through gritted teeth. "What if Lucifer shows up? She'll be practically defenseless."

"I suspect that she will have far more defense than you could manage once we are done, Master Sparda, and the window of vulnerability will be very small. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask Karasuma-san to help you to the guest room at the end of the hall before you pass out. It will be difficult to clean up if you lose consciousness here in the kitchen."

"Why should we trust you with Robin after you've done something like this?" Karasuma demanded, frowning fiercely.

"Because if you do not trust me, Robin will not learn enough in time to defend herself against Lucifer." Hamada's expression darkened. "I see many things about the future--snippets of what will be and what could be. I see many dark things in your future if you do not allow me to do what I can for Robin now."

"So, you expect us to just trust you?"

Smiling again, Hamada replied, "Yes, I do," and Dante realized that she meant it far more certainly than she should have. She already knew how they would respond.

He cursed under his breath, but an intense ache was starting to replace the sharp pain, and his muscles were beginning to feel like petrified wood. Even if he had wanted to fight her, he wouldn't have had much of a chance, he realized, as he felt his strength draining away. Seeing him sway, Karasuma holstered her gun and moved to follow Hamada's previous orders. "If you are lying," she began warningly, turning a glare on Hamada as she pulled one of Dante's arms across her shoulders.

"I am not," Hamada interrupted quickly. "He will be his usual impudent self by morning, I assure you. And I have no intention of harming Robin."

Glaring at Hamada across the table as Karasuma helped him to his feet, Dante snapped, "You're one sneaky bastard, grandma, I'll give you that much."

Hamada only smiled in response.

-----------

"This must be it," Karasuma muttered bitterly as she balanced Dante against the wall and slid open the door at the end of the hall to reveal a small bedroom. A futon was already spread out in the center of the floor and a beautiful display stand stood against one wall cradling a massive sword. Other than the two objects and an ornate wallscroll on the opposite wall, the room was unadorned.

Dante cursed as he stumbled through the narrow doorway, leaning heavily on her. "I can't believe I fell for such a cheap trick," he mumbled. "I've never even heard of a poison that would do something like this."

"Well, it's hard to fight against someone who already knows what you're going to do," Karasuma replied with forced calm, tightening her grip on Dante's arm. "As suspicious as I was of her, she still managed to surprise me."

The room was small, but they were only halfway to the futon when she lost her balance and they both went crashing toward the wall. Dante managed to catch himself against the wall before they tumbled all the way to the floor, but Karasuma found herself sandwiched between the wall and him. She had been trying to keep herself focused on the task at hand and to not notice how long it had been since she had been this close to a man, but he was far too close now for her to ignore the circumstances completely. It didn't help that Dante had been flirting with her nonstop since they left Tokyo. She knew better than to take any of his teasing to heart, but she had also been alone for too long for it to leave her unaffected.

"Oops," Dante grunted with a smirk as he looked down at her. "I think that was my fault."

"I don't doubt it," she replied curtly, pushing him back enough for her to regain her footing.

"Can't say I regret it, though." Her craft communicated the truth of his words to her through their physical contact, though she also knew he was only interested on a superficial level.

"If you aren't careful, I might just tell on you when Trish gets back." Karasuma attempted to help Dante down to the futon without falling down on top of him, but she was only partially successful. To her relief, Dante was already fading quickly enough that he hadn't noticed.

His eyes drifting shut sleepily, Dante collapsed back against the pillow. "Go ahead and tell her," he murmured. "She's probably hitting on Amon as we speak."

Sitting back on her heels as she struggled to arrange the covers around him, Karasuma said quietly, "I doubt she would get very far in that endeavor."

He smiled faintly. "Hm. Then I guess she'll be in no more trouble than I will be." His smile turned into a grimace and she felt his pain when her hand brushed against his as she tucked the blanket around him. "I don't think I can...stay awake..."

"It's okay. Just rest. I'll try to keep an eye on Hamada." She sighed when she realized he was already unconscious, his pale eyelashes quivering against his cheeks as if he had fallen directly into a dream. She didn't like being without his strength as back up, but she had to admit she was mildly relieved at the prospect of some peace and quiet without his constant badinage.

Brushing a few strands of silver away from his face gently, she whispered, "Sleep well."

The hallway was quiet when she emerged from the room and shut the door behind her. Michael was sitting at the other end of the hall staring at another closed door intently. "Have they started?" she asked softly when she reached his end of the hall.

"Yeah." He shrugged and looked up at her. "I wish there was something I could do."

Karasuma slid down to the floor next to him. "I know. But now all we can do is wait."

"You know," Michael began reluctantly, glancing at her cautiously, "as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of wish Amon was here."

Karasuma ached with the truth of that statement; though she had always thought of herself as capable of filling Amon's shoes if necessary, the reality was that none of them had given Amon credit for his leadership abilities. He had his flaws to be sure, but they had believed in him as a leader, even when they were criticizing his decisions. It was easy to criticize when the responsibility was on someone else's shoulders, but now that she was carrying a good portion of that responsibility herself she could appreciate everything he had done. "Me too."

**Author's Note:**

** I didn't put this joke in, but I was thinking about it after the fact and thought I would share. I almost decided to call her a "crafty Kansaian" but it was a bit of a stretch. You see, there's this really stupid commercial for the Kansas lottery where I live that involves a bunch of Asian businessmen discussing the new online games for the lottery and wondering how those "crafty Kansans" got there first. Since Kyoto is in the Kansai prefecture and Kansai is so similar in spelling to Kansas I thought it would be perfect. But unfortunately, no one but me would really get the joke without this long explanation...**

**I'm super curious to know what you all think about Hamada. It took me awhile to decide what to do with her... Regardless, one of my goals in this chapter was to get myself out of the "stuck in the middle of the anime series" rut. I wanted to get the reveals from the end of the series out in the open quickly and with as little pain as possible. If you haven't seen WHR and are here because of Dante, I apologize, but I didn't think WHR fans would want to hear all about Toudo's experiments and stuff all over again. I'm pretty much sticking to the canon in a vague sort of way where that's concerned. Frankly, most of the information at the end of the series was pretty vague to start with and left up to interpretation in many ways.**

**I hope I didn't annoy anyone with all the snack and drink references. As you can probably tell, I'm really pining for them all. Strangely, I didn't mention my favorite drinks though: Melon Cream Soda and Fanta Loves Berry. Mmm. I love that stuff. And those green tea Kit Kats kicked ass. Why doesn't Nestle make Kit Kats here?! Damn Hersheys... Though the boys made fun of Karasuma's SoyJoy, I actually thought they were fairly tasty--especially the grape flavor.**

**Also, I wanted to thoroughly apologize for not responding to everyone's reviews from last time. I have been going crazy since I got back from Japan and fallen behind in all of my internet activities. I promise to do better this time! I will still respond to old reviews if people are interested (and can even remember what they wrote so long after the fact…)**


	6. Weapon of Choice

**Author's Note: Here we go...the first chapter that includes stuff about what's going on in both worlds. You know what that means, don't you? They're getting closer to each other--and closer to a reunion! **

**I was going to wait a little bit to post this since I just posted a chapter last week, but I decided to give everyone an early Christmas present. Because of that though, I can't promise another chapter before the holidays. Life gets super busy this time of year, and I'm sure this year will be no different, so I hope everyone will be forgiving of a delay. Besides, all of you will probably be busy too. ;)**

**I hope you enjoy it! it's a long one...**

**Chapter Six**

**Weapon of Choice**

For Amon, walking through the underworld was a little like breathing radioactive battery acid. He couldn't really describe the experience to anyone--nor did he fully understand it himself--but it hurt like hell, which he supposed was only to be expected. He felt as if every cell of his body was constantly attempting to either escape or implode, and his vision was limited to what he could actually see and understand--which was very little.

He stumbled, and Trish moved to support him with a hand on his waist the moment he wavered. "You doing okay?" she asked softly, pulling one of his arms across her shoulders.

"Mm," he grunted, unsure if his answer was an affirmative or negative. Luckily, she seemed to understand.

"We should rest for awhile," she said under breath, clutching him against her. It was only then that he realized his grip on her shoulder was slipping. "Hey, Vergil. Let's take a little break."

Amon concentrated on the lean figure ahead of them, relieved that Vergil's form was one of the few things about this place he could look at without feeling slightly woozy. Vergil halted at the crest of the hill ahead, his posture clearly broadcasting his annoyance. Turning slowly, he looked down at them both with frosty eyes, his facial expression blandly neutral.

"If we continue to make these pit stops every few miles, we'll be lucky if we make it to the gate before he dies of old age." Vergil swept his gaze over the shattered promenade they had been traversing, fingering the hilt of his katana impatiently.

"Well, he won't make it there at all if we don't let him rest," Trish snapped. "Merely existing in this world drains him of energy, and we've been doing enough walking to make a human weary in his own world."

"I'm fine," Amon rasped, focusing all of his energy on simply putting one foot in front of the other. He tried to lift some of his weight from Trish's shoulders, but his efforts went mostly unnoticed.

Trish pulled him to a stop effortlessly. "No. We're stopping. If you want to keep going, Vergil, be my guest. You won't be missed."

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "I think you underestimate my contribution to this journey. You label him as the sole reason for the constant breaks, but I wonder how much your own exhaustion influences them."

"You know what, Vergil? You're right. I _am _tired--sick and tired of dealing with your uppity attitude. If you're so tireless, why don't you go take a walk and burn off some of that bountiful energy of yours by making sure there aren't any hungry demons around?"

"Perhaps I will," Vergil retorted quietly. "If only to escape your shrewish squawkings for a little while."

Thoroughly ignoring them both, Amon took the opportunity for what it was and slipped out of Trish's reach. He leaned back against a crumbling wall and slid down to the ground--or at least what passed for ground in the demon world. The changes were subtle, but he was certain the ground was shifting ever so slightly beneath him like the slow, even breathing of some great beast. The sensation was unnerving, and so slight that he questioned his own perceptions; considering the poor level at which his senses were working, it wouldn't have been surprising if the movement was only in his mind.

Huffing loudly in annoyance as Vergil disappeared around a corner, Trish crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at the empty patch of ground where he had been standing a moment before. "What an ass."

Amon smirked sourly, thinking of another white haired individual. "Reminds me of someone."

Trish refocused her attention on him, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yeah? Me too." He wasn't so distracted by the arduous task of existing that he failed to notice she was talking about him.

Sighing softly, and massaging his temples, Amon allowed his eyes to drift shut, noting how even such a small act of submission made his fight against the elements more difficult. He pried his eyelids open again through sheer force of will and blinked up through the ruddy light at Trish. Her expression was difficult to read, and he had no patience for subtlety at the moment. Coherent thoughts were difficult to come by in his current state and he saw no point in wasting them on such casual conversation. "What?"

She crouched down in front of him, her lips pursed pensively. "Despite my disgust at the complete lack of loyalty to Dante you displayed earlier, even I have to admit I'm impressed by your strength. This place wasn't made for living humans--it was made to torture their souls. The fact that you're still conscious is amazing. How can you keep yourself in one piece when this world is constantly trying to tear you apart?"

Looking away from her gaze because he was fairly certain he was incapable of hiding his surprise in his current state, Amon shifted slightly against the wall. "How much farther is it to the gate, do you think?" he asked quietly. As soon as he had spoken he regretted voicing the question, knowing that it only revealed the fragility of his fight against the forces of the underworld.

Trish's hand gripped his shoulder and he tensed, but a moment later he felt a rush of liquid warmth flow into his body through her fingertips. A scowl twisting his lips, he brushed her hand away and glared up at her, his eyes stinging with the effort. "Tell me how far it is and I will make it there. I don't need your charity."

Blinking at him wearily, Trish sighed. "I don't know how far it is. Another day...maybe more. You're burning through energy with every breath you take and your body will give out eventually under the strain if you don't replace some of that energy. I'm stronger than ever in this world. I can afford to spare a little energy to keep you going--and I will, whether you want the help or not."

Shaking his head only enough to make the gesture obvious without wasting energy, Amon whispered, "Why do you care whether I survive or not? I have already told Vergil that I don't intend to defend Dante, and I know you didn't care for the way I treated Touko. Though you occasionally flirt with me, I know you only do so to make Dante jealous--you don't seem to actually have any respect for me at all. So why are you going out of your way for me now? Is it because of Robin?"

"Hell no," Trish scoffed, looking away abruptly. "Robin's probably better off without you." She paused and her leather pants creaked as she rocked slightly on her feet. When her blue eyes focused on him again, they were coolly serious. "I found something when I was in the Factory. I thought about giving it to you immediately, but I decided it would be better to wait until we had dealt with Beatrice. It's not as if you could have done anything about it before then anyway."

Despite all of the other distractions constantly bombarding his senses, he had enough presence of mind leftover to feel a spark of fear at her cryptic words. "What did you find?" he demanded weakly.

Frowning, Trish knelt in the dirt beside him and straightened so she could slip a hand into her pocket. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and offered it to him with a cock of her head and a subtle shift of her hips; the sensual gesture that seemed habitual more than intentional was not lost on him even in his muddled state of mind.

Amon took the paper quietly and unfolded it, dreading the contents more than he wanted to admit. His eyes pinpointed his own name almost immediately. They noticed the word daughter only slightly less quickly and his mind had filled in the missing pieces in the fragment of a message before Trish had shifted back onto her feet. The breeze, which had been blisteringly hot a moment before, now left him chilled. It seemed that Zaizen had proven good on his threats, even in death.

"I don't know anything more than what's in that note, but if it means what I think it means, than you have something important to take care of back in the human world. I intend to keep you alive to make sure you follow through with that responsibility."

Amon no longer had the energy or the desire to speak so he simply inclined his head.

Trish stood up brusquely, brushing the dust off her pants as she did so. "Rest while you can," she said blandly. "I'm sure the tyrant will be back soon with his whip."

Leaning back against the wall with less weariness than he had felt before--probably because of the portion of energy Trish had shared with him--Amon watched her stride away through blurry vision.

----------

The passageway was surprisingly cool compared to the sweltering atmosphere outside, the occasional tumble and scatter of small rocks and crumbling architecture the only sounds disturbing the corridor's tomb-like quiet. Vergil enjoyed the relative quiet--as well as the welcome solitude--as he traversed the passage leisurely. He had already disposed of most of the lesser demons in the area, but he delayed returning to the others for much the same reason he had agreed to leave them alone for awhile in the first place; he needed some time to think.

Thinking was more difficult for him than it used to be. His mind wandered more often, catching on snags and gaps in his memory and spiraling through wasteful loops of thought until an outside force interrupted the pattern and drew him back into the present. This imprecision in his thinking bothered him quite a lot considering he had once prided himself on his clarity of mind.

As if this worry weren't enough, he had also noticed something else strange about himself since his so-called rebirth--something that bothered him even more than his drifting thoughts. He remembered very little of his time spent under Mundus' control, and though the jumbled memories unsettled him, they didn't bother him nearly as much as the shadowy presence he sensed in his mind whenever he attempted to recall that time. It was not so much a memory as an influence, a mechanism inside of him that followed a different set of rules and had its own motivation. The very thought of this other, this artificial personality Mundus had imposed upon him, disturbed him greatly. He didn't want to consider what he might do were its influence to fully take hold in his mind again. He put a wealth of faith in his own control, and the thought of such hard won control being made so tenuous chilled him to the bone.

The hollow chuckle of tumbling rock drew him out of his circuitous thoughts and he tensed, his hand hovering over the pommel of his blade. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but he only snagged a glimpse of red fabric as he turned, his breath catching in his throat when he felt a spiny fingertip against his neck.

Cackling softly in a voice like dry leaves crushing underfoot, the creature whispered, "Son of Sparda." The finger traced over his jaw and Vergil's hand settled on the hilt of his katana. "So cold--so unlike your fiery brother."

Vergil loosened Yamato from her sheath and spun on his heel to face the demon, but the creature skittered back through the darkness, cloaked in ragged crimson cloth. "My brother might have spared your pathetic life. I will not."

Twittering again, the demon danced out of reach when Vergil lunged for it, saying in a singsong voice, "Poor, pitiful Vergil. Possessing only half the powers of a demon and even less than half the powers of his own mind." Vergil scowled as he waited for the creature to make an appearance again; he could hear rustling footsteps but the shadows concealed the skeletal figure as it taunted him. "Mundus shattered his soul and his brother shattered his body, leaving only a fragment left for the Master."

Vergil's hand twitched on his sword. "You serve Lucifer?"

"Only a fool would serve anyone else," the creature hissed, but Vergil could not pinpoint the direction of the voice. "The Master put you back together, wretched and broken son of Sparda." A sharp fingernail pressed against Vergil's lower back suddenly, pushing uncomfortably against his spine. "But once a toy's been broken, it can never be quite the same again."

Unsheathing his sword, Vergil turned toward the demon, but was unprepared for the horrific sight of the wide, pallid eyes so close to his own. Sharp, talon-like fingers pawed at his vest, and Vergil swallowed the bile in the back of his throat. "Don't touch me," he hissed, hating his own hesitation.

"You feel him in your mind, don't you?" the demon whispered, its breath hot and sulfurous against Vergil's skin. "The other. The dark angel that devoured your soul."

"Shut up." Vergil actually wondered for a moment who had said the words before he realized that the harsh, terrified whisper had come from his own lips. He caught a fragment of cloth with his blade before the demon danced out of reach again. Quieting his mind with considerable effort, Vergil relaxed his bone-breaking grip on his sword slightly. "Did Lucifer send you to watch me?"

"The Master has eyes everywhere. He doesn't need a spy as lowly as me."

"Then why are you here?" Vergil searched the shadows for the frail creature angrily, his patience growing brittle.

"I am here to remind you of your duty to the Master," the demon hissed in his ear, once again managing to sneak up behind him. "Don't forget that you have always commanded your brother through his hatred. He follows best when told to stay behind."

Vergil tensed. "I know how to control Dante," he growled. "I don't need a reminder."

"The Master looks forward to seeing you again." The demon's voice was distant now and Vergil could just make out its tattered figure in the shadows of a doorway. "You and your brother."

Before Vergil could even make a move toward the creature, it had already disappeared, its dry laugh echoing back through the corridor. Relaxing slowly, he sheathed his sword fluidly and took a long, deep breath. Considering his decision concerning Lucifer's orders, Vergil wondered if his conclusion was worth rethinking. Several things about the situation surrounding his revival disconcerted him, but he was not in a position to do anything about them at the moment at least.

Sighing quietly, Vergil turned back in the direction he had come, deciding he had spent enough time alone. Though he was reluctant to admit it, Lucifer's servant had been correct about one thing. Vergil was used to dealing with a Dante who hated him; he hadn't known another kind for many long years. Trish's admission of Dante's feelings made him uneasy because he needed Dante to hate him. Things were far simpler that way.

_I've made him hate me before. I can do it again. _The prospect pained him, but he knew that carrying it out would be far easier than it should have been. He and Dante conflicted naturally in nearly every way anyway, so it would only take a new transgression to renew his hatred.

----------

"Something's happening," Karasuma said so softly that Michael could barely hear her over the sound of his video game. They had been waiting in the hallway for over an hour, but had heard nothing more than murmurs through the closed door and seen no sign of what was going on inside. The tension had finally built to such a point that Michael had to find a distraction. He had picked up his DS and started playing, sticking to mindless games like Cooking Mama after he burned through all of his lives in the New Super Mario Brothers in a matter of minutes.

Pulling one of his earphones out of his ear, he glanced at her quickly, surprised to see the fear twisting her features. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't think so," she replied just as quietly, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. "But I can feel Robin's power...it's incredible."

Michael shifted his gaze back to the door across from them, noticing that the hairs on the back of his neck were rising. Something was definitely happening, and now that he was paying attention he realized that even he could feel it. He might not have the witch gene, but he could still feel the pressure building in the air like a storm approaching. "Do you think we should go in there?" he asked faintly.

"Not yet." Karasuma did not sound entirely sure, but he decided to trust her opinion anyway. "Let's give them a little more time."

"Is that thunder?" He asked when a soft rumble shook the ground beneath them.

She titled her head as she listened, and a flash of lightning confirmed the sound. "Yes. That's good. A storm will cover some of the power in the air."

Nodding silently, Michael found himself wondering if the storm was only a coincidence, or if the rising power had actually caused it in the first place. Either way, they had no choice at this point but to ride it out. Returning his attention to his game, he muttered a curse when he failed a task again. "It's okay. Mama will fix it," read the caption beneath his score. The irony brought a twisted smile to Michael's lips. If only real life were so easy.

---------

A murderously bright flash of lightning greeted Dante as soon as his eyes snapped open, but he knew that the rumble of thunder accompanying it wasn't what had startled him awake. He still felt extremely weak, but he managed to push himself up on his elbows and strain his eyes into the darkness. For the second time that night, he noticed that something was wrong. Power sang through the air, hidden beneath the noise of the storm gathering strength outside, but that wasn't what was wrong.

He could feel Robin's signature in the power, as well as the distinctive feeling of Hamada's craft, but he didn't sense anything awry with either force. Whatever he was sensing was far closer--it was in the room with him. A familiar scent hung in the air, but he couldn't quite identify it. His eyes finally focused on the display stand at his feet, and he noticed that it was empty only a fraction of a second before his instincts forced him to gather what strength he could muster and roll swiftly to the side.

Catching his breath as he stared at the massive blade that had buried itself into the futon inches from his face, Dante peered up at the female form above him obscured by the darkness. He had only a moment to recover before the blade was removed from the floor with a grunt and sent slicing through the air toward him again. Rolling onto his feet, Dante winced as he dodged another attack. A burst of lightning illuminated the room enough to reveal the woman's exotic features twisted with rage before she rushed toward him far faster than he could move to escape.

The blade was sharp enough to tear through his shoulder and into the wall at his back effortlessly before he could even prepare himself for the blow. "Shit," he hissed as the woman smacked him across the face and twisted the sword in deeper. "Is that really necessary? You've got my attention already."

"Silence," she snarled in his face. "I've found you at last, traitor, and I'm going to savor this." Dante was thoroughly confused, but he knew better than to speak up while she still had a grip on the sword buried in his chest. "I've been waiting years for my revenge, but at last I have you where I want you. It's time for you to learn the consequences of betraying me, Vergil."

Dante couldn't keep his mouth shut on that one. "Vergil?!" he gasped. "Sorry, babe, but you've got the wrong guy."

Fury lit the woman's eyes as lightning flashed through the room again. "I won't fall for such an obvious lie."

She shoved the monstrous blade another inch into him, and Dante barked in pain, "Knock it off! I'm not Vergil, you sadistic bitch!" The pain was nearly unbearable, and Dante realized with a sickening lurch of his stomach that with his demon powers suppressed by Hamada's poison, he wasn't healing. If he didn't find a way to stop this fight and prevent the flow of blood soon, he just might bleed to death.

Luckily, his tone seemed to finally penetrate her thick skull and she paused, considering him silently. "You're his twin... I remember now. You fought him, didn't you?" Dante released the breath he had been holding, but it caught again in his throat when the fierceness returned to her features quickly as she jerked the blade out of his shoulder. "Then you will pay his debt."

Summoning every last scrap of strength left in his body, Dante ducked her second blow, gripping the wound in his shoulder with shaking fingers. "What the hell is your problem? Vergil can pay his own damn tab. It has nothing to do with me." Dante found himself speaking of his defeated brother as if he were still alive--a habit he should have broken a long time ago.

"He betrayed me," she shrieked, lunging for him again.

"Yeah, he does that," he snapped back, diving out of the way of her attack and panting for air past the burning pain now consuming his every thought.

"You could never appreciate the agony. I have been trapped here in this pathetic human world for years without any way to return home and with no sign of my betrayer. I could do nothing to find him or a way back to the demon realm. "

"Must've been real rough," Dante snapped dryly, slipping in a pool of his own blood and landing on the floor again, prone beneath her blade.

She hesitated, the tip of the sword hovering over his adam's apple. "You are not healing," she observed.

"No shit." Dante let his head fall back against the floor, unable to even hold it up to look at her any longer. His vision was blurring badly and he almost wished she would just finish him off already--he was used to serious wounds, but not to much prolonged pain from them.

"Why aren't you healing?" she demanded accusatorily, as if he had decided to stop healing on purpose.

He chuckled dryly, but instantly regretted the strain it put on his injury. "I guess I just can't do anything right."

She did not reply for what felt like a very long time during which he struggled to keep from passing out; merely remaining conscious was requiring almost all of his concentration. Finally, she announced, "I will spare your life." He would have laughed at the arrogance in her voice if he hadn't known that the effort would probably kill him. "But, in return, you must fulfill Vergil's bargain with me."

"Fine. Sure. Just as soon as I stop bleeding."

He listened in relief to the sound of her returning the sword to its place on the stand, trying not to think about how much warm blood was rushing past his fingers and soaking into the mat beneath him.

"Perhaps I was too impetuous," she admitted reluctantly.

"That's one word for it."

"Do not mock me. I am sparing your life, after all."

Squinting up at her, he scowled darkly. "Only after putting it in danger."

She shrugged. "You are far more fragile than I expected... Far more fragile than your brother."

Dante smiled sourly. "Last time I saw my brother, I kicked his ass. You caught me on a bad day."

"Dante?" The sound of Karasuma's voice on the other side of the thin door startled him; with all the insanity he had nearly forgotten that he wasn't alone in the house. The constant grumble and crash of thunder must have covered up most of the sounds of their scuffle, but the storm was beginning to die away into the distance now. The door squealed in its track as Karasuma shoved it open. "Are you all...right...?" She froze at the sight of him, her mouth agape.

He managed a small smirk, but he honestly didn't know how to reply. He was feeling pretty awful, but she was obviously concerned enough already that she didn't need any more bad news.

"What happened?" Karasuma's gaze swept across the blood-soaked floor in horror. Her focus shifted to the display stand and the sword once again nestled in its grooves.

Dante glanced over at it as well, but did a second take when he noticed just how big it actually was. The blade that the woman had used had been massive, but not quite as broad as the zanbato currently resting silently in the stand. _Speaking of that woman, where the hell is she?_ With a sinking sensation, he scanned the room only to find it utterly empty; he briefly considered the possibility that he had hallucinated the entire thing, but his painfully throbbing wound said otherwise.

"Did you somehow manage to stab yourself in your sleep?" Karasuma asked uncertainly.

Rolling his eyes and clutching his shoulder as he forced himself into a slumped sitting position, he growled, "Take a look at that sword. Unless I have elastic arms, there's no physical way I could impale myself on it."

"Then what happened?" Karasuma knelt down next to him, skirting the pool of blood with distaste.

"Do you think I should I interrupt them?" Michael asked from the doorway, his face pallid in the dim light from the hallway as he observed the wreckage within. "Are we in danger here?"

Shaking her head and looking at him helplessly, Karasuma replied, "I don't know. I still don't know what happened."

A flux of energy at the edge of Dante's senses caught his attention, and his gaze snapped back to the sword, all the pieces finally falling into place. He knew he had seen that sword somewhere before. He stumbled to his feet and nearly fell right into the blade, but Karasuma managed to catch him before he could do any more damage.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"I'll be damned," he hissed when he got a better look at the sword.

_I'm surprised it took you so long to figure it out, son of Sparda,_ the woman's voice said in his mind with an amused lilt. _Your brother defeated me. To save my honor I allowed him to use me, but only in exchange for his vow to return me to my rightful place guarding Osorezan on the border of the demon and human realms. But he failed in his quest and Mundus made him a slave. In the end, he left me behind when he was defeated by you and I was condemned to drift through this pathetic human world alone._

"Where's Osorezan?" Dante asked out loud, a spark of hope flaring up inside of him.

"Osorezan?" Karasuma repeated.

"Mount Osore?" Michael offered, excitement building in his voice. "It's in Aomori Prefecture. I learned about it back in school, but I haven't thought about it in years. I can't believe I forgot it. Some people believe it marks the entrance to Hell."

"Jackpot," Dante whispered, some of his pain forgotten in the satisfaction of the revelation. "That's it. I'll take you home if you'll open the door."

"What are you talking about?" The hint of panic in Karasuma's voice implied that she was beginning to think he had lost more than a little blood.

Ignoring her, Dante asked the sword, "So, what's your name anyway? Come on out and introduce yourself before they put me in a straight jacket."

A crackle of energy and a blinding flash of light later, the sword had transformed back into her human form. Dante's nose twitched at the acrid ozone smell hanging in the air, recognizing it as the scent he had noticed when he first awoke. "My name is Vengeance," the woman declared, regarding Karasuma and Michael coolly. Her skin was a dark chocolate, but her eyes were a luminous sort of blue that glowed faintly in the darkness of the room. "I was once the guardian of the great gate at Osorezan."

She placed the smaller blade that she had used in their fight threateningly against Dante's throat before he could think to shield himself. "I will serve you until you fulfill your promise, but know this: your life is forfeit if you fail me. I will not be betrayed by another Sparda."

Dante smiled wryly and tightened his grip on his shoulder. "I have absolutely no intention of crossing you, babe."

-----------

_Her hands were bound behind her, fastened firmly to one of the large stone obelisks scattered across the broken plain before her. Rain poured from the heavens and she shivered as the water dripped from her hair down her neck and back, the cold seeping into her bones. Something about the stone behind her subdued her powers--or perhaps absorbed them--and she was unable to fight against the chains wrapped around her wrists. _

_Boots skidded against wet rubble and her attention returned to the two figures still locked in combat. The rain had plastered their silver hair down against their skin, but other than that flash of white, she could not distinguish between them through the driving rain. They were too evenly matched in strength and skill and they fought each other across the wet, uneven ground relentlessly. Trish struggled again to free herself when she heard Dante's voice raised in a hollow cry of pain, but a moment later she lost track of him as both brothers drew blood but continued fighting. _

_At last, one of them lost his footing on a loose stone and left himself open to an attack. Straining against her bonds, Trish peered desperately through the rain to identify the fallen man. She could hear no sound over the roar of thunder as one of the figures ended the fight ruthlessly, leaving a broken body on the ground at his feet. _

_The rain had picked up and heavy drops were slapping against the ground obscuring her vision further as the figure approached her slowly. She could detect no swagger in his step as she would have expected of Dante, but she couldn't see the fluidity of Vergil's gait either; he was clearly exhausted and wounded._

"_It's finished," a hoarse, soft voice said barely loud enough to be heard over the rain. _

_Trish found that her eyes were blurred by both the rain and her own tears, and though she tried to see him, she could only see a blur. His hand slipped to the nape of her neck and he pulled her into a kiss. She relaxed into him, returning the kiss with as much fervor as he was displaying; this had to be Dante. _

_Her hands were free, though she hadn't noticed him untying them, and she was tangling her fingers in his hair, allowing him to pull her away from the stone and into his arms. His skin was chilled by the rain, cooler to the touch than she had expected, but a suspicion struck her as his touch became rougher and more possessive. _

_Pushing herself away from him in panic, she looked up at his face and knew by the cold glint in his eyes. "Vergil," she hissed a sob in her voice._

"_You belong to me now," he said darkly. _

Trish sat up suddenly, her hollow gasp loud in the still, suffocating air. She felt his eyes on her immediately, and her own gaze darted through the shadows to find him sitting serenely across from her, his expression calm and unreadable. Her hand skimmed through her damp hair and touched the back of her neck lightly as she forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose.

"Bad dream?" Vergil asked quietly, his voice shaded with mockery.

"Why do you care?"

He sighed quietly. "At times you are so much like Dante it pains me to even speak to you."

Rolling her eyes to the cracked ceiling arched high above them, she shook her head minutely. "While I'll admit Dante can be a pain at times, I think you manage to best him in that respect."

"I best Dante in every respect." He said it so simply and with such conviction that she could do little more than scoff and shake her head.

"Arrogant son of a bitch," she muttered, forgetting for a moment that Vergil had sensitive ears.

"You're speaking of Dante's mother as well, you know." He leaned toward her ever so slightly. "And the woman from whom your likeness was stolen."

"Yes. Yes. You're a broken record, Vergil. For someone so well-spoken, you have little to say."

She could tell by the tension in his shoulders and the way he clenched his jaw that she had struck a nerve. "I am simply accommodating the intellect of my company."

Standing up swiftly and stretching the kinks out of her back, Trish shivered in an attempt to shake off the haunting memory of her dream. "No. You're just trying to remind me of the strained history behind my relationship with Dante in order to make yourself feel less lonely."

Vergil shifted without moving an inch; she could feel his muscles coiling from a few steps away. He chuckled humorlessly. "Lonely? Is that what you think I am?"

She shrugged. "And pathetic."

Looking away sharply, Vergil rose to his feet as well, his movement far more graceful than hers had been. "Wake the human. We have lingered here too long."

Trish sighed, kicking a pebble toward Amon's boot with a shake of her head. "Well, that might be easier said than done. He's out cold again. I don't know how much longer he can keep going on his own even if we do manage to wake him up now, and I am not interested in carrying him the rest of the way to the gate. I think it's your turn to play pack mule." She glanced back up at Vergil with a stilted grin.

"I have no interest in helping that human. If he cannot walk, then he will be left behind." Vergil braved her expression of disgust without remorse.

"If you're not interested in helping him, Vergil, then really, why are you here?"

Vergil turned his back on her, peering into the shadowy hall beyond them. "We need to keep moving. I have given him sufficient time to rest. If you cannot awaken him, you will either have to carry him or leave him behind."

"I don't recall anyone electing you leader. Bark orders at someone who gives a damn."

Kneeling down next to Amon, Trish decided to use this opportunity to transfer some of her power to him while he was unable to protest. They were getting close to their destination now and she knew she should conserve her energy for the effort of opening the gate, but she didn't want to risk losing Amon now when they were so close to getting him home. Though she had told him that sharing her power was not a problem for her, the effort was costing her enough strength for her to notice the lack. Still, her energy replenished itself in this world, while his simply continued to drain away.

When she stood up again, she noticed that Vergil was watching her with an expression of resignation. "Why do you care so much about what happens to him?"

Crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips, she returned his question with another question. "Why do you care so little?"

"He is weak. Might controls everything. He is not worth my time." Vergil paused, a bitter twist to his lips as he added, "And yet, you weaken yourself on his behalf."

Trish shook her head and walked a few paces along the corridor, pretending to be interested in the carvings incised across the collapsing wall. "Frankly, Vergil, I don't know why you bother trying to understand at all when you're so obviously unequipped for understanding." Taking a deep breath and turning back to look at him, she decided she was not in the mood to deal with his questions. "I'm going to take a walk. Can I trust you to watch over the weakling while I'm gone?"

His eyes narrowed. "Are you purposely testing my patience?"

Smiling with considerable effort, Trish began walking away and waved at him over her shoulder. "I'll be back in a little while."

She had only taken two steps when a thunderous crack echoed through the cavernous space. She tensed, scanning the area for the source of the sound, her hand already reaching for the gun at her hip before she remembered that she had left her guns foolishly on the ground next to Amon. She quickly realized they wouldn't have done her any good anyway when she saw the chunk of stone crumbling away from a column high above and whooshing down toward her. She knew that she should move, but for some reason the sight had mesmerized her into immobility.

She grunted in surprise when she felt something solid and warm shove her out of the way before landing on top of her, shielding her from the spray of rocks as the stone hit the ground and shattered. Huddled beneath a veil of silver hair, Trish looked up at the all too familiar face above her in surprise. Vergil's eyes were just slightly paler than Dante's, but other than the subtle difference, his face looked exactly like his twin's, especially when his hair fell forward, silver strands framing his features.

The eerie similarity was only intensified by the fact that Vergil had shielded her in a way that reminded her painfully of a time when Dante had done the same thing. They had barely known each other then, and Dante had protected her despite the fact that she had already betrayed him. She wondered if it had been at that moment that she first realized how she felt about him. He had been so different from what she had expected; so fierce and yet so kind. Vergil did not have that kindness--although, she supposed she should cut him a little slack since he had protected her this time.

"Thanks," she said tersely when the echoes of crumbling rock had faded into silence.

His face was expressionless, but he did not move, continuing to pin her to the ground with his body as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You should be more observant."

Trish nodded, though the movement was difficult considering her position. "Good advice."

_What the hell is he doing? Does he intend to stay there all day?_ She might not have minded had the body on top of hers actually been Dante's, but the eerie similarity was already starting to cause problems; her mind certainly knew that it was Vergil on top of her, but her body didn't have a clue and it was starting to respond to the intimacy of the situation. "Well..." Sliding her arms over the rubble to get better leverage so she could attempt getting to her feet despite his weight, she said, "We should probably--"

The words died in her throat when he snatched at her wrists and pressed them down against the rocky ground. His eyes were frightening in their intensity and Trish found her lungs aching with the need for air. Her breathing was further restricted when he pressed himself even closer. He was too close. Her skin was crawling with the intrusion into her personal space while a fiery heat was steadily growing deep inside of her. She wanted to dissolve into the ground and disappear.

"Mundus created you well." Vergil's voice was soft--coolly distant yet not without a hint of sexuality in its quiet timbre. "Our bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle."

Forcing a smile, Trish tried not to let her fear show. "I'll bet you use that line on all the girls."

Vergil's eyes narrowed, and Trish regretted taunting him, her heart pounding faster in her chest and threatening to break her ribs with its panicked enthusiasm. "I am not my brother."

_No, of course not._ They were treading through very dangerous territory. "And that's the problem. I hate to disappoint you, Vergil, but this puzzle piece was made for Dante, not you."

"It was made to tempt and betray him." Vergil's lips twisted in a sneer. "Your loyalty to him astounds me. It's obvious you desire me on some level, and yet you would rather stay true to him."

Trish decided that subtle wordplay wasn't going to get her anywhere. He was trying to goad her into an argument. Why else would he have both suggested that she was attracted to him and questioned her loyalty to Dante in the same breath? "Get off of me, Vergil."

"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" The expression in Vergil's eyes made her want to smack him, but her wrists were still trapped in his fingers.

"Get...off." She was starting to struggle a little, though she knew it would probably only arouse him further.

A smirk curved his lips, similar to the one she had seen on Dante's lips so many times before--similar, but subtly different. "Interesting choice of words."

Rolling her eyes, she groaned in frustration; she had no intention of helping him "get off" any time soon. Trying a different tactic, she said, "I thought you found the idea of touching someone who looked like your mother repulsive, Vergil."

"I think I understand how Dante can get past it now." Vergil's voice was still dangerously soft, his face so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. "You were right before; you may look like her, but there are significant differences that make it clear you are _not_ her. Once again, Mundus did a masterful job in your creation. He knew that Dante could never be attracted to you if you were like our mother in every way."

Trish was starting to get really tired of hearing Vergil refer to her as "Mundus' creation." The concept made her feel more like an object than a person, and Vergil's usage of it only revealed his extreme arrogance. "Yeah. He was a great guy," she snapped, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"He was a fool."

Quickly running out of options, Trish decided to go for a more physical tactic this time. Vergil had landed low enough on her body that they were face to face, and one of his legs was between hers leaving his groin vulnerable. "Whatever you say, Vergil." Shifting her hips slightly to free her leg, she jerked her thigh upward, but Vergil saw the attack coming.

He had to lift himself off of her in order to dodge the attack, and the space gave her an opening. She twisted beneath him and managed to pull one of her wrists out of his grasp. Slamming her elbow into his jaw, she scooted backward over the ground and tried to crawl out from beneath him, but he still had a firm grip on her other wrist. She kicked at him, but he caught her leg just above her knee and dragged her back toward him with unnatural strength. If only she wasn't still so weak from donating power to Amon!

Panting to catch her breath as he pinned her down again, she glared up at him as he wisely settled himself entirely between her legs this time so she couldn't attempt to knee him in the groin again. His eyes were spitting blue fire and his face was twisted with an expression that was half gloating dominance and half something else that Trish couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't desire exactly--at least not in the normal, healthy sense--though it seemed at least akin to lust. Strangely, on some level she knew that he wasn't lusting for her directly. Was he lusting after the power he currently had over her? Power had always been Vergil's true love.

"Why are you doing this?" she gasped softly, hating how breathless her voice sounded. "You don't want me--not really."

Regarding her cautiously, he tightened his grip on her wrists and a glimmer of loathing flashed in his eyes. "I've been alone for a very long time. I may not be the veritable ball of passionate energy that Dante is, but my body does have its needs."

"I don't buy it," she hissed. "You aren't the type to submit to your body's needs. That would mean your body had control over you and you won't allow that. So, spit it out, Vergil. What are you after?" His nostrils flared and the hint of hatred returned to his eyes. She could have kicked herself for not seeing the answer there immediately. Her mouth dry, she murmured, "You're doing this because of him, aren't you? You don't care about me, but you know he does."

The anger in Vergil's eyes was kicking up into an icy inferno and she shivered despite her determination. "You're more perceptive than I expected," he said bitterly. "But don't imagine you understand everything. My motives are nowhere near so simple."

"But you admit you have motives."

"It is impossible to do anything without having a motive."

She exhaled weakly, regretting doing so when she tried to draw breath again past Vergil's weight crushing her down. "So, what are you going to do now, Vergil?" she demanded. "I haven't even touched my powers yet, so don't expect me to submit to you without a fight."

He looked down at her through slitted eyes. "I never expected anything less."

-----------

To her knowledge, Robin had never had an out of body experience. She wasn't sure if the sensation she was currently experiencing would qualify as one, but she certainly felt disconnected from her body at the moment.

Hamada had started out with simple, straightforward exercises to test Robin's basic control over her craft. Nothing about them had been surprising, and Robin had felt comfortable with them since they were very similar to the training she had gone through when she was first learning how to use her craft. Unfortunately, they did not force her to reach past the unexplored boundaries of her powers since she was staying within her accustomed limits.

Though Hamada had seemed unconcerned by their lack of progress, Robin had worried that she would be unable to even use her new powers consciously. Her memories of using them were gone now, and she had no idea what they were or how they worked, so how was she to summon them at will? Did they become available to her only when she encountered a sufficient use for them, or were they always accessible?

When none of their efforts had proven successful, Hamada had decided to try a different tactic. Robin did not completely understand how Hamada had done it, but she had managed to create an imaginary space where Robin could experiment with her craft without physically manifesting her powers. While they were still sitting in the small room in Hamada's house, their awareness was no longer in that place, focused instead in a dreamlike space within Robin's own mind.

Although they were in Robin's mind, Hamada had a considerable amount of control over their environment. At first, she simply walked Robin through the space, creating it through vocal descriptions in the way a hypnotist might guide someone through their subconscious. Eventually, Robin became absorbed enough in the pseudo reality that she was no longer aware of Hamada's voice, or even of her own body.

Hamada threw obstacles in Robin's path, blockades which could only be breached by using her craft. Each challenge became more difficult and less predictable, but Robin was able to meet them each time, slowly expanding her abilities as she went. Her instincts began taking over her reactions, and she attacked each target through sheer reflex, burning through the anonymous objects one by one.

Robin lost all sense of time and space as they continued, but the reactionary pattern came to a jarring halt when she finally noticed that the obstructions Hamada was throwing in her path were no longer as unidentifiable as they had been in the beginning. A human form was standing before her, wielding a craft of his own, and she wondered suddenly how long the obstacles had been wearing human faces. She had noticed the truth too late, and she was unable to stop her craft from raging across the distance between them, consuming the man in a blinding flash of light.

More figures emerged from the darkness around her, but Robin did not react, watching them in horror as they approached. They sent torrents of air hurtling toward her, created fissures in the ground beneath her feet to swallow her, but she did not retaliate--instead, she defended. She blocked the razor sharp gusts, realizing for the first time that she could see the lightning fast attacks clearly and could even predict them coming. She ignited a wall of fire to stop the fissures from reaching her, amazed that she was able to directly change the flow of a craft other than her own.

The attacks continued coming, and though she was able to stop them, she knew that eventually she would start losing the battle because of her opponents' sheer numbers. Still, she hesitated to attack. She knew that the figures slowly closing in on her were not real, they were nothing more than imaginary creations. That didn't change the fact that she had destroyed one of them without even noticing that he was not merely a target but a person, and the ease with which she had turned him into mere ashes terrified her.

She wanted to stop. Hamada had forced her to draw more and more power to the surface with each new confrontation, keeping Robin moving so quickly that she hadn't had time to fear the sheer magnitude of her abilities. Now she was afraid, and she no longer cared if these figments tore her to pieces. Her life was not in danger in this place--at least she didn't think it was.

But as a few attacks began breaking through her defenses, she realized that even if the battle was not real, it felt real enough to her mind. An arc of electric energy cut into her and she stumbled, defending against a slash of air too late. Each assault slowed her reactions further until she could see the group of figures encircling her, allowing her no room to maneuver.

Pain began to distract her, and she cried out. At last, she gave in to the need to protect herself, to end the pain. Power boiled up inside of her, and she released it in an explosion that swept through the space in her mind, demolishing the construct and blazing past its boundaries into the emptiness beyond.

"That is enough," Hamada said calmly, and the sound of her voice brought Robin back to reality with a lurching suddenness.

Robin was shivering uncontrollably when she finally opened her eyes. The candles Hamada had lit in a circle around them were all burnt out, some of them fallen from their holders as if they had been blown over by a fierce wind, hot wax splashed across the tatami mats. Realizing that the room should have been dark without the light of the candles, Robin looked around for the source of the ethereal, blue-white light that lit up the room dimly.

She started when she caught a glimpse of her own hand and realized it was glowing. The light was coming from her. This is what Dante had been talking about--what had happened to her when she had protected him from Lucifer.

Robin was still coming to terms with this realization when Hamada began speaking again. "Your powers are still developing, but you should have a better understanding of how to use them now. I don't think that I can teach you anything more until you have achieved your full potential."

"I don't know if I want to reach that potential," Robin said quietly, closing her eyes again and hugging her arms to herself. _Not if it means I can destroy real people that easily. It's more power than anyone should rightfully have._

-----------

Consciousness returned to Amon more easily than usual--at least more easily than was usual in the demon world. He blinked into the scarlet light and found that the strangely undulating ground bothered him slightly less than it usually did--even the stifling air seemed less unpleasant in his lungs. He sat up slowly nevertheless, cautious of ruining the first moment of pseudo comfort he had felt in this world.

Vergil was crouched at the edge of the cavernous opening along one wall of the hollow they had been using as shelter, but Trish was nowhere to be found. Without shifting from his position, Vergil answered Amon's unspoken question frostily, "Your benefactor went for a walk. She promised that she would not be gone long, but I wouldn't hold my breath."

Shifting so that he could lean back against the wall, Amon decided not to reply. Vergil was an enigma that he didn't have much interest in figuring out; his priority was getting out of the demon world, and he cared about little else at the moment. Vergil's opinion made little difference to him.

Lacking anything better to do, Amon regarded Vergil's profile silently, taking note of how little he looked like his brother despite their identical features. He wondered how he could have possibly confused the two; everything about Vergil spoke of cold, disciplined power, and the strength of his presence shadowed even his physical appearance. Dante had a strong presence as well, but his aura was very different, rife with raw energy and unpredictability.

Vergil shifted slightly, looking back at Amon over his shoulder, the ruddy-hued light turning his blue eyes gold. His expression was disapproving, his lips pressed into a firm line. "I realize you may not be aware of it, but you are wasting energy merely by sitting there."

Stiffening at Vergil's tone, Amon clenched his jaw to keep from making a foolish retort.

"Power is literally gushing out of you like water through a floodgate, and while you might be able to get away with such a lack of control in your world, it is an act of suicide here." Pursing his lips and returning his gaze to the dusty vista outside, he added, "I do not know why she continues to keep the truth from you--perhaps she thinks she is sparing your feelings or some such foolishness--but if you don't gain at least a fraction of control over your craft before we reach the gate, the trip through it will likely kill you."

Amon swallowed his pride with considerable effort, realizing that Vergil had a point. He had been feeling somewhat encouraged by his improved control over his power compared to the way it had often run over him roughshod in the human world, but it seemed that he had no more control over it now than he had then. The only difference was that the demon world ripped his power away before he was forced to deal with it.

"She throws her power at you haplessly when you aren't looking just to keep you alive, and you promptly throw it away without ever knowing the difference. The wastefulness of it all is nauseating."

Sighing in resignation, Amon choked back the last of his pride, and accepted the opportunity silently being offered. "Teach me how to control it," he said softly, half regretting the words the moment he spoke them.

Vergil spun back to face him, obviously startled. "You're asking _me_ to teach you?" Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I am not a forgiving teacher."

Amon straightened, focusing on Vergil with determination. "I don't need forgiveness. I need control. As you said, I don't have much time, so I can't afford to keep trying to learn it on my own."

Cocking his head at him, Vergil asked haughtily, "Why should I bother?"

Amon was very tired of Vergil's uselessly condescending attitude. "You're the one voicing your annoyance with my ineptitude. If you weren't interested, you wouldn't have said anything."

Smiling faintly, Vergil shrugged minutely. "I will teach you what I can, but my powers are very different from yours--they may not work in the same way. I offer no guarantees and I do not repeat myself."

"Where do we start?" Amon replied fearlessly. He had nothing to lose at this point; if he couldn't find a way to control his craft, then he probably wouldn't have much hope of getting home anyway.

The smile actually reached Vergil's frosty eyes as he sat down across from Amon unhurriedly. "Close your eyes," he said tersely and Amon obeyed without hesitation. "Now visualize your power as a pool of light. At the moment, that pool is overflowing and spilling energy beyond your reach. Imagine your body as a basin for that power. Your basin is infinitely deep and can hold every drop if you can manage to gather the power before it escapes." Vergil paused, taking a deep breath and giving Amon a chance to absorb this before continuing. "Begin reining in the power gently--don't force it. Coax it back toward yourself and gather it into a ball of light."

Vergil waited silently for Amon to complete the task, and while Amon appreciated the silence he wished that Vergil would elaborate a little more when he realized how difficult the assignment actually was. Nine times out of ten, his power slipped through his fingertips when he reached for it, but eventually he was able to gather a good portion of energy into himself, seeing it in his mind's eye as a whirling sphere of pure energy glowing brilliantly in his hands.

He wasn't sure how Vergil was able to tell when he had finally succeeded, but he immediately began speaking again once Amon was done. "Now, without letting any of the power escape completely, release it slowly into the basin. Let it flow through you, from your fingertips to your toes, filling every inch of you with light. It should feel like a part of you, like an extension of your own body. Don't try to hold on to it--the energy will cling to you naturally if you don't force it."

Amon was less certain about this step, reluctant to give his craft any freedom at all. He knew this fear was the source of most of his failings in dealing with his craft, but it was an instinct that was hard to deny. Finally, he managed to let some of his power loose; it raced along his veins and throughout his body seeking escape. He nearly panicked and tried to catch it again, but he forced himself to hold back. To his relief, the power calmed and slowed, tranquilly flowing through him without trying to get away.

He released more power and got a little ahead of himself. Some of the energy escaped, but he managed to retain most of it in the end, concentrating so hard that he was unaware of the footsteps crunching over the gravel outside their shelter and coming closer until they were nearly upon them. His eyes snapped open, but he was relieved to find Trish ducking under the broken arch marking a doorway.

Vergil did not acknowledge her presence, merely continuing his lecture. "That is the first step in controlling your powers. Right now, you have to concentrate to manage it, but with enough practice you should be able to do it unconsciously. The next step is to control the flow of your power, but that will have to wait until later." Standing up fluidly, he turned toward the doorway, his sword in hand. "We have wasted enough time here."

What little clarity of mind Amon had been feeling when he first woke up had faded now; he wasn't sure how long he had been working at the lesson, but it had been long enough to drain him of most of his ability to focus. Luckily, it had done the reverse for his power. He felt more energized than he had felt since arriving in the demon world. He wasn't sure how long he could maintain his control over his craft, but already the improvement was making a difference.

Regarding him curiously for only a moment, Trish swiftly returned her attention to Vergil with a frown. Amon's capacity for subtlety was very limited at the moment, but he still caught something in her eyes as she watched Vergil--something he had not seen in them before. He wondered briefly at her reasons for taking a walk in the first place, but dismissed the thought quickly. Trish had already made it clear that she did not care for Vergil, and they had already argued enough on their journey to make any interaction between them strained.

He had no patience for their power plays. All he wanted was to get back to his world and find out if Robin was truly alive as he believed she was.

**As always, I'm extremely eager to know what you thought of it all. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter-- and I've been waiting for months to write my way up to parts of it, so it's a relief to finally get here. Somehow Vergil turned out to be the focal point, though I hadn't originally intended for that to be the case. He's just such an attention hog--unintentionally, at least, unlike Dante. I hope the training sequences weren't too confusing. It's difficult to describe something so metaphysical clearly.**

**Well, in case I don't get anything posted before the new year, I hope you all enjoy the holidays.**


	7. Hallowed Ground

**Author's Note: **

**It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. A lot of things have been going on in my life and my writing has, unfortunately, been pushed to the back burner a lot lately. Since I last updated this story, I have moved and changed jobs (on completely separate occasions), among other things. The past several months have been especially crazy for me with the job change and my dad's bicycle wreck… But things are finally settling down now and getting into a routine.**

**I suppose I should admit that a major reason I've felt inspired again on this story is the Devil May Cry anime. I had been waiting for it since I found out about it at the Tokyo Game Show last year, and then when it finally came out I was too distracted with everything else to remember to watch it. I caught up a few weeks ago though, and while it certainly isn't the best thing ever, it is fun. But seriously, their shallow characterizations are a bit annoying. More about that later, I'm sure…**

**I had the first couple sections of this chapter written before my last post months ago, but the rest of it is all fairly recent. Hope that doesn't ruin the flow of things. But enough talk. I hope you like it.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Hallowed Ground**

Michael was dozing in an unfortunately uncomfortable position in the hallway. Karasuma had joined Dante and their strange new ally in the kitchen, and he could hear the muffled echoes of their conversation through the thin walls, but other than the soft sound of their voices the house was silent. The storm had died away hours ago and a gentle rain was falling outside, refracting the first rays of the sun as it rose over the horizon.

He sat up straight as soon as he heard the scrape of a door sliding open and shook off his sleep quickly, focusing on the hunched figure stepping out into the hallway. "It must be morning already," Hamada said, conveniently focusing on a mundane topic of conversation before Michael could start asking questions. "Are you hungry, dear?" Michael opened his mouth to protest, but a growl from his stomach gave him away. Hamada's smile widened and she began making her way down the hall. "I'll heat up some miso."

Michael looked back at the doorway just in time to see Robin emerge from the dark room. She looked ethereally beautiful despite the obvious fatigue in her eyes, and he couldn't be sure, but her skin seemed nearly luminescent, glowing despite the lack of light. "Robin?" he questioned faintly. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, but her expression was less than reassuring. "How long were we in there?" She glanced back at the dark room.

"Almost eight hours," Michael replied hesitantly, gathering his things and leading her down the hall toward the kitchen. "Karasuma and I actually tried to open the door at one point, but Hamada must have locked it somehow—and warded it as well. Dante told us to give you more time anyway. He was still weak from the poison, but he said that he could sense you well enough to know that you weren't in any danger. I was still worried though."

Hamada arrived in the kitchen just before them, and Michael squinted into the brightly lit doorway as she greeted everyone in a pleasant tone. "Good morning. Is everyone hungry for some breakfast?"

Michael instinctively stepped in front of Robin when a blur of movement pushed Hamada back against the wall just inside the door. He relaxed minutely when he saw Dante casually pressing a knife against Hamada's throat. The blood-darkened bandage wrapped around his shoulder and chest was blatantly visible through the opening in his unbuttoned shirt, and Robin gasped softly.

"I don't think so," Dante said crisply, a wry smile twisting his lips. "I've had more than enough of your home style cooking, Baba Yaga."

"How threatening," Hamada said without visible concern for the sharp blade against her neck. Her dark eyes shifted to the table and the exotic woman seated next to Karasuma. Michael still didn't know what to think about her. He had seen her transform from a sword into a human form—or at least what appeared to be human—with his own eyes, but he still had trouble believing what she really was. Karasuma seemed equally uneasy about her, but they both had to trust Dante's opinion at this point. "I see you managed to awaken the sword…good for you."

"Yeah, good for me," Dante mimicked. "Like you didn't already see that coming."

A sad smile curved Hamada's lips. "I didn't. As I already explained, I do not see everything that is going to happen. I knew only that you would learn something important to your journey while Robin and I were occupied."

"You knew something about the sword," Dante insisted.

"I knew it was a possessed weapon and that it would prove useful someday. Though I never saw it in a vision, I must admit I half suspected that it would have something to do with your revelation." Her gaze focused on his bandaged shoulder and she frowned. "I never would have given you the poison if I hadn't felt confident you would be able to survive the experience, though."

"Easy to say now." Dante's eyes glinted with menace and he pressed the blade closer to her skin.

"Dante." Michael had been paying too much attention to Hamada and Dante to notice Robin slip by him. Placing a hand lightly on his arm, Robin murmured, "Please, let her go."

Dante's anger visibly melted away as he shifted his attention to her. "Hey, kiddo. How are you doing? Did Fairy Godmother here manage to teach you anything?"

"I think so," Robin replied softly, frowning as she tugged at his elbow.

Reluctantly, Dante released Hamada and took a slow step away from her. Hamada merely brushed herself off and arranged her clothes. "Ah, that's better."

Robin immediately stepped closer to Dante, peering beneath the edge of his shirt curiously and inspecting his bandage with furrowed brows. "What happened?"

"Vengeance happened." Dante nodded toward the stranger at the table. "She has a grudge against my brother and mistook me for him."

Blinking up at him in surprise, Robin repeated, "Your brother?" Michael pricked his ears. Dante had been unwilling to explain anything about his sibling to the rest of them, but if anyone had a chance of getting him to open up it was Robin.

Dante shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Yeah." Continuing in a rush as if he was hoping no one would notice that he had paused, he said, "Anyway, it just so happens that she was once the guardian of a gateway to the demon world. If we can get her back home, she's our ticket to hell."

Michael couldn't interpret Robin's expression. She seemed partially relieved to hear that they had a plan of action, but he imagined that she was still uncomfortable with the thought of opening a path to the underworld. He couldn't blame her; the idea of it still scared the shit out of him.

"I suppose you will be leaving now that you have what you need, then?" Hamada regarded Dante coolly.

"Why don't you tell me?"

Ignoring his sarcasm Hamada turned to Robin. "Before you go, there is something I want to give you, Robin." She crossed the room and opened a drawer next to the sink. Removing a tray of utensils, she pulled a key from her pocket and turned a lock at the bottom of the drawer before lifting a wooden panel. She pulled a manila envelope from the hiding place and handed it to Robin delicately. "Before Solomon discovered what we had done and we were forced to flee, I managed to collect some of Touda's documents. I believe they will be useful to you in the future."

Taking the envelope and hugging it to herself, Robin smiled faintly. "Thank you…for everything."

Karasuma stood slowly and Vengeance followed her example. "Well, should we get going?" she asked, obviously eager to put as much distance between themselves and Hamada as possible. While Robin seemed to trust Hamada more than she had before, the rest of them had seen little reason to do the same.

Buttoning up his shirt, Dante cocked his head as he looked at Hamada pointedly. "Any words of wisdom before we go, granny?"

Smiling that sweet smile at him, Hamada replied, "Though I saw much of what would occur while you were here, I can discern very little about your future from this point onward. Robin's powers will continue to develop--that much is certain. This may create unexpected complications which I hope can be alleviated somewhat by those papers." She nodded to the envelope in Robin's arms. "As for the rest of what I have seen, I cannot tell you anything for fear of changing the course of the future."

"That's it?" Dante prodded with a raised brow, shrugging into his jacket. "Not even the winning Lotto numbers?"

Hamada smiled wryly. "My powers don't work that way. They are not meant for personal gain."

Dante scoffed. "Right. Almost forgot you were a selfless humanitarian."

"We should go." Karasuma gestured toward the door, smiling tightly.

"Couldn't agree with you more." Dante was already heading down the hall toward the door, Vengeance following wordlessly in his wake.

----------

Robin didn't know who she was anymore. Her sense of self had already been obscured by her missing memories, but now that she had scratched the surface of her true powers she was afraid it had fractured beyond repair.

Hamada had helped her to reach those powers, had drawn them to the surface and tested them one by one. Even after all the exercises, Robin only had a cursory understanding of her own strength; she wasn't sure if she could even call on her power with any reliability, but at least she would not be surprised by it again.

Not that she could remember being surprised by it in the first place. She couldn't remember saving Dante's life, or facing Lucifer on the battlefield. She had hoped that those memories would return as she accessed her abilities, but she was no closer to closing the gap in her memory than she had been before. The disappointment was crushing and only added to her feeling of despondency.

The trip back to Kyoto had been quiet, and Robin had kept to herself, lost in her own thoughts. They had returned to the hotel for some much-needed sleep, but sleep had obstinately eluded her and she had finally grown tired of tossing and turning and managed to slip out of the hotel room she was sharing with Karasuma and into the hall. Normally, when she couldn't sleep or was troubled, she would find her way to the nearest church to pray. The tranquil quiet of a church always made her feel safe, and though she occasionally had her doubts about her own worthiness to enter such a sacred place, it had always felt like home to her.

With the recent revelations about her birth and the reasons for her creation, she worried that she might no longer be welcome in such a place at all. God loved all creatures equally and without reservation, but according to Hamada, her powers at their full capacity could be enough to rival even that of the heavens. She didn't think she could enter a church with a free conscience at the moment, so she had no idea where to turn to find the peace of mind she craved.

To her surprise, Michael was sitting in the lobby when she arrived there, absorbed in a video game. Her first instinct was to avoid him and slip outside before he noticed her, but something inside of her yearned for company despite her confusion. She found herself wandering over to his seat and hovering beside him quietly.

"Robin!" he exclaimed when he finally noticed her, self-consciously adjusting his glasses on his nose. "What are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

Closing his Nintendo DS and nodding awkwardly, he agreed, "Yeah. Me either."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them and Robin almost regretted interrupting him. Burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she glanced around the lobby and searched her mind frantically for something to say.

Finally, Michael broke the silence, his gaze drifting over to the sunny street framed by tall windows along the lobby's outer wall. "Hey! Do you want to go sightseeing?"

Robin blinked at him in surprise, his suggestion catching her completely off guard.

Michael started putting his game away as if she had already agreed, continuing eagerly, "Hamada said you should be able to hold your own against Lucifer now, and there's this shrine here in Kyoto that I've always wanted to see. It's really cool—I think you'd love it—but I didn't really want to make the trip by myself, you know. It's more fun to share it with someone else anyway."

Startled, but warming to the concept, Robin asked quietly, "What about the others?"

Shouldering his backpack decisively, Michael replied, "We'll leave a message at the front desk."

"I don't know…"

"Come on," Michael pleaded gently. "It would be good for you to get out and do something fun." His eager expression made the last of her resolve crumble.

"Okay," Robin agreed finally. She knew that she should be more cautious, but she was frankly tired of being cautious—tired of never going anywhere without an entourage of protectors. Maybe they were being foolish to go off on their own, but she found it difficult to even care about the consequences at the moment.

Fushimi Inari Taisha was a short train trip from their hotel and they were greeted by the first of the bright red gates that had made the shrine famous immediately upon leaving the station. She knew very little about Japanese religion, but Michael explained that this shrine was dedicated to Inari, the Shinto god of rice, and pointed out the fox komainu, or guardians on either side of the main gates.

Robin was immediately struck by the peacefulness of the area as she followed Michael past the main hall of the shrine and up a set of stone steps. More fox guardians greeted them along the way, holding various objects in their mouths, each symbolic of different aspects of the harvest. They eventually made their way to the beginning of a long path lined with more bright red gates—torii, as Michael referred to them—and the sun cast dappled shadows across the stone walkway, filtering through the canopy of trees above.

Michael disappeared around a bend of the path ahead of her, but she didn't hurry to catch up, losing herself in the magical tranquility of the moment and realizing that she had managed to find a sanctuary after all. As she wandered through the sturdy wooden arches, catching glimpses of the wooded area beyond and listening to the quiet sounds of nature and hushed whispers of other visitors to the shrine, she realized that her fears had been unfounded. God was not a localized phenomenon and did not exist only within the confines of a church; she could find him here as well, and she was still welcome, no matter what she had become.

The path wound and twisted its way through the trees, splitting into two separate paths at one point which both ended at an inner building of the shrine. She caught up to Michael there, and he pointed out the paper strips tied to a stand at the entrance of another torii-lined path.

"These are called omikuji," he explained. "They tell your fortune, but I'm afraid to try it right now. I don't think I want to know anything more than Hamada already told us. Instead, I think I'll just write down our wishes and hope for the best." He held up a wooden board he had purchased at a small shop they had passed along the way. Robin waited with him while he wrote on the board, watching as he hung it on one of the hooks next to the shrine and making a silent prayer of her own.

They continued their exploration, winding their way down more circuitous paths of torii and watching as the morning light shifted, shafts of angled light cutting through the gaps between gates. The blanket of quiet woven throughout the shrine was punctuated only by the ethereal cry of distant birds and their own muffled footsteps.

Closing her eyes as they paused at an intersection of paths, Robin opened herself up to her craft, realizing as the morning turned into afternoon that she could feel a building of power in the earth beneath them. It was a benevolent kind of energy, an ancient gathering of power that centered itself in the shrine, rooted in the wishes and hopes of every individual who had visited the location. The energy danced through the air around them, and now that she was open to it she could feel it regarding her curiously as well.

"Robin?" Michael asked cautiously, interrupting her commune with the power of the shrine.

"This place is magnificent," she murmured in response. "It reminds me of some of the places in Italy." She opened her eyes and smiled at him, actually feeling the expression for the first time in a very long time. "Thank you for bringing me here, Michael."

Looking away from her sharply as if to hide the blush she could clearly see rising to his cheeks, he cleared his throat. "No problem." He glanced up at the sun winking through the foliage above them and added reluctantly, "But we probably should be getting back soon. Everyone will be worried."

Though she could have stayed there forever, she knew he was right. "Yes. We should go."

The shrine had given her a feeling of completeness that she knew would linger long after they left.

----------

They were getting close to their destination—or so Trish had assured him repeatedly. Frankly, it no longer mattered to Amon how far they still had to climb or how many labored steps remained between him and the so-called gate that would lead him back home. Each step was its own struggle, and he had lost track of time and distance in the monotony of the journey. He could no longer think beyond the next obstacle or even remember the last obstacle they had overcome.

While he had all but given up on trying to make sense of the warped landscape around them, he was aware, at least, that they were no longer simply traversing hills and valleys, but scaling an ancient, crumbling structure. According to Vergil, the gate was at the top of the tower, but Amon wasn't sure it would stay standing long enough for them to reach that point.

His boots crunched over gravel and broken glass as they rounded a corner and entered through a set of enormous, elaborately carved doors that were hanging askew from broken hinges. The walls and columns inside were less misshapen and distorted than most of the architecture in the underworld, but something about the space gave Amon a particularly strong sense of foreboding. From what he could determine by looking at the remains, most of the structure and numerous columns were originally constructed of some kind of opalescent white marble, and the floors had been adorned with reflective tile that shone even in the dusty space like a dark, faceted mirror. It had the loftiness and awe of a gothic cathedral--and it had absolutely no place in the demon world.

Stumbling over a loose shard of rock, Amon caught himself against a column and took a moment to rest, using the opportunity to focus on his companions. Trish was hugging her arms to herself and squinting into the blinding light pouring through shattered windows along one wall, a frown shadowing her features. Her expression was difficult to read, a mixture of wistfulness and regret. Vergil seemed to be bothered by the surroundings as well as he stood in the shadow of a large mound of marble which had probably been a statue at some point in time, his expression even more incomprehensible than usual.

"We should keep moving," Trish said with a sense of urgency, rubbing her arms and heading toward the gaping chasm smashed through the wall behind the pile of marble rubble.

Vergil watched her pass him coldly, his icy eyes narrowed and his lips curling with disgust. "How refreshing. For once you aren't begging to stop."

Trish ignored him, eyeing the rocky slope warily as she began picking a path over the debris.

Pushing himself away from the column when he realized that he had no choice but to catch up or get left behind, Amon focused again on putting one foot in front of the other. Vergil had been giving him more lessons during the brief breaks in their journey, and Amon was finally managing to rein in his craft fairly effortlessly. He was a long way from being able to utilize his craft easily, but at least he wasn't losing power with every breath he took. Still, even without the energy drain from constantly fighting his craft, surviving in the underworld was exhausting in its own right.

The sound of rock crashing down against broken floor tiles reverberated dully through the space and Amon's eyes snapped up, searching for the source of the disturbance. It seemed that Trish had lost her footing near the crest of the slope, but Vergil had caught her around the waist and prevented her from sliding all the way back down.

Pausing at the bottom of the mound of rock, Amon watched them silently, noting the way Trish jerked away from Vergil and nearly lost her footing again. While Amon had been trying very hard not to notice the increased tension between the two, the animosity had grown to such a point that it was too obvious to ignore. While their mutual dislike had been established from the beginning, Amon was beginning to wonder if something more substantial had happened between them during one of his unconscious spells.

"If you don't get your hand off me, I'll break your fingers," Trish snarled, the ferocity of her tone at odds with the relative innocence of the situation.

"Little good that would do," Vergil commented, his expression darkening. "My fingers would heal before I noticed the difference."

Trish smiled tightly, the expression nearly a grimace. "Let me rephrase, then. If you don't get your hand off me, I'll cut it off."

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "How violent."

Though Amon's senses were admittedly not working at full speed at the moment, he was entirely unable to follow Trish's movement before she was pressing the tip of a knife against Vergil's throat. "That's not the only thing I'll cut off either," she hissed in Vergil's face. "I'd like to see you grow _that_ back."

Swallowing in discomfort at the unspoken meaning behind Trish's words, Amon took an uncertain first step onto the loose rock and silently hoped that they would refrain from any serious violence until after they had opened the gate.

Vergil stepped away from Trish finally, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. His expression had not changed. "Your threats are unnecessary."

"Oh?" Trish still had her knife pointed unwaveringly at him.

"I assure you that I will refrain from catching you the next time you fall." Turning his back on her, Vergil swept over the rest of the splintered stone with seemingly little effort, leaving them behind without another look in their direction.

Trish's hand began shaking before he was out of sight, and the trembling seemed to work its way up her arm and to the rest of her body. She was gasping for breath by the time she finally managed to slide the knife back into its sheath, wiping her hands on her pants as if to wipe away sweat. Amon had never seen her so unsettled, and though he was not usually bothered by such things, he knew how helpless he currently was, and how much more helpless he would be without her helping him along the way.

Stopping to catch his breath on a slab of rock next to her, Amon glanced at her curiously. "Are you okay?" he asked weakly.

Surprised by his question, her blue eyes focused on him and blinked several times before she replied. "I'm fine. He…just really gets on my nerves." He did not even question the authenticity of her smile; even he--who was far from skilled at judging emotions on a good day—could tell that she was obviously forcing the expression.

"He clearly does more than that," Amon replied dryly, testing an oblong chunk of marble for stability before putting his weight on it.

"This place brings back memories," Trish said sadly, following along behind him and deftly changing the subject without responding to his comment. "I was born here—and I nearly died here as well. It was a bit of a shock when we walked through those doors into this room of all places."

Amon glanced back at her curiously, uncertain of her meaning.

"The demon world is constantly in flux," Trish explained. "Things…move around. This place was once part of the human world, an extension of the underworld that had managed to latch on to the other side. Dante destroyed it, and it must have tumbled back down into this world. I hadn't expected to find it so close to the gate though."

Finally they made their way through the makeshift opening in the wall into the ruddy haze beyond. Amon was careful not too look to closely at the nauseating vista below, focusing instead on the crumbling rock around him. "Wonderful," he muttered when he made sense of the path ahead. "More steps." The stairway spiraled around the tower twice before broadening and leading up to a platform at the top. Amon nearly collapsed on the last step when he saw that their journey was finally over.

Standing regally near the tall structure at the center of the platform, his long coat catching fitfully in the wind, Vergil was either too wrapped up in his inspection of the edifice to notice their approach or simply too uninterested in them to bother acknowledging their presence.

Trish lingered at Amon's side, watching Vergil warily. "This is it," she whispered. "The gate."

"We made it," Amon whispered, exhaustion settling around his shoulders now that their goal was in sight.

"There's no point in trying to open it right now," Vergil announced suddenly without shifting his attention from the carved column before him. His fingers traced over the stone reverently as he continued, "This text says that the gate can only be opened at specific times. The next window is still several hours away."

"Why am I not surprised?" Sighing in resignation, Trish glanced at Amon. "You should take advantage of the opportunity and try to get some rest, though. You'll need all the energy you can get to survive the trip through the gate."

Shifting his attention from her and back to Vergil, Amon shook his head. "No. I'll stay awake."

"What?" Trish was clearly unprepared for his response, her eyes wide as she blinked back at him.

Amon walked a few paces across the platform. "I couldn't possibly sleep now that we're this close." Leaning against a nearby column for support, he added, "You're the one who needs rest anyway. You haven't slept at all during the last few breaks we've taken."

Trish stared at him wordlessly, her lips parted as if she wanted to respond but couldn't find a way to refute his observation.

While he wasn't sure why he cared, he couldn't help feeling a bit of pity for her. She had been very considerate of him during their time in the underworld, and he knew that he probably wouldn't have survived the journey without her help. Whatever the source of her difficulties with Vergil, he owed it to her to do what he could to ease her mind. Crossing his arms over his chest, he repeated reluctantly, "Rest. I'll keep watch as you sleep."

"I don't…"

While he was feeling generous, Amon didn't have the patience for her attempts to keep up a strong façade. He barely had the restraint to even make this sacrifice in the first place. "Something obviously happened between the two of you while I was unaware," he interrupted her bluntly. "If you are concerned about letting your guard down because of him, than I will keep an eye on him for you so that you can rest. I may not be any match for him in a fight, but I think I can manage to wake you before he could pose a threat. I have a feeling you will need your energy to get through the gate as much as I will, so you should get some rest while you still have the chance."

An expression of wonder mingled with gratefulness and regret crossed her face. "Amon, you really don't need to—"

"I'll do it anyway."

Emotion swept across Trish's features and she looked away from him sharply. "Thank you," she murmured.

-------

The bus barreled down the narrow road as it snaked back and forth up the mountainside.

Karasuma had long since tired of gazing out the window at the mist wreathed peaks or of trying to make small talk with Michael without descending into motherly ranting about his foolish sightseeing trip with Robin in Kyoto. She had already lectured him enough that he was becoming adept at tuning her out. At the moment, he was listening to music on his headphones while typing furiously on his laptop, effectively cutting himself off from her though he was sitting in the adjacent seat.

Sighing in impatience, Karasuma flipped through the small brochure she had picked up at the train station. Despite its name, Mount "Fear" was apparently a relatively popular pilgrimage site, drawing all those who had lost loved ones—especially those who had lost children—to a place on the border between this reality and the next. Mourning parents came to Osorezan to visit their children and pray to ease their tormented souls. Some even tried to contact the soul of their loved ones through blind mediums skilled at making contact with the spiritual realm.

Karasuma shivered, already anticipating the intense emotions she knew would be shrouding the place. It was bad enough that the goal of their journey involved opening a path to hell without the emotional memory of thousands of visitors' grief and loneliness weighing her down. She knew her craft would be difficult to control with so much emotional turmoil written over every surface of the mountain, but she also knew that she had no choice but to reign it in.

Glancing out the window again, Karasuma noted that the scenery had transitioned into a misty bamboo forest. Stone jizo statues stood guard along the roadside at various intervals, monuments to the souls of dead children adorned with bibs and decorated with colored pinwheels that glinted brightly out of the gloom. The anticipation was tying her stomach in knots, so she turned away from the window once again, looking across the small aisle to her companions seated on the other side of the bus.

Dante was slouched comfortably in his seat, his eyes closed and his head lolling slightly as he dozed. How he could possibly sleep at a time like this was beyond her. In contrast to his complacency, Robin was turned halfway in her seat, gazing intently out the window, one of her hands pressed against the glass.

Nestled on the shelf above their heads, Vengeance lay within the confines of a guitar case Dante had purchased to keep the massive sword hidden. While Vengeance could manage to pass as human physically, she had already proven on their trip from Kyoto to Aomori prefecture that she couldn't be trusted to keep the fact that she was anything but human hidden. Karasuma was fairly certain that she did it inadvertently, but she couldn't help thinking it had something to do with Vengeance's distaste for humans and her unwillingness to be associated with them.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully, and before long they were gathering their luggage and clamoring out of the bus. An unpleasant odor immediately filled her nostrils as she stepped outside and she struggled not to cringe.

Dante had no problem voicing his revulsion though, grumbling loudly, "Whew. Someone definitely had the beans for lunch," as his boots crunched over the gravel behind her. "And probably dinner—and breakfast too. "

"It's the sulfur," Michael explained unnecessarily, his nose wrinkling as he took in their surroundings.

Karasuma caught herself before she rested a hand against the sturdy wood of a nearby fence, but was still shivering at the close call when a tourist brushed up against her. Quickly repressing her craft as sorrow and loneliness washed over her, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. Her companions paused beside her, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs before they followed the path through the torii outside Bodaiji temple.

Stretching his arms over his head, Dante turned in a slow circle, surveying the picturesque peaks along the horizon cloaked in hazy wisps of cloud. "It's a bit of a misnomer, isn't it?" he commented dryly. "Not even a mountain really."

"What did you expect?" Karasuma asked—mostly to distract herself from her dread of entering the temple and venturing into the cloud of intense emotion she knew she would encounter there.

"I don't know…lava flows and ash falling from the sky maybe. The smell's bad enough though, I suppose." He shrugged and then began walking again, the guitar case swinging against his back.

"Are you okay?" Robin asked, looking up at her attentively.

Caught off guard, Karasuma tried to hide her discomfort. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking, Robin. It's just that this place is so full of emotional memories…"

Robin nodded in understanding. "It must be difficult to block them out."

"It's just a little overwhelming. But I'll be okay," Karasuma reassured her with a smile.

They caught up with Dante and Michael at the entrance to the temple.

"I see that they offer free baths." Dante smiled suggestively. "And from what I can tell, they're co-ed. Care to take a dip, Miho, and wash away the dust of traveling?"

Karasuma shook her head and kept walking. "Do you really want to coat your body in water that smells like rotten eggs?"

Dante shrugged. "If the view is right."

"Co-ed baths aren't all they're cracked up to be, Dante," Michael explained quickly, noticing the murderous look on Karasuma's face. "I just saw a couple of old ladies go in there."

"We have several hours before sunset," Karasuma said, trying to steer their conversation back to the task at hand. "I suggest we secure our lodging for the night and then explore the area a bit. Do you think you'll be able to locate the place we're looking for without…?" She hesitated.

"Without our pointy friend's help?" Dante smirked. "I don't think that will be a problem. I can already feel something in the air—a pull in the energy currents."

"I feel it too," Robin murmured gravely, her brows furrowed; whatever she was feeling didn't seem to appeal to her. Karasuma couldn't feel anything specific with all the emotional turmoil in the air confusing her craft, but she didn't doubt her companions' observations.

After discarding their luggage in the rooms at the temple, they wandered outside and explored the temple grounds, following a rocky path past stone Buddhas silhouetted against the grey sky. The path led through a volcanic wasteland of malformed ashen rocks, a monochromatic landscape overshadowed by the misty peaks in the distance and broken only by the occasional splash of color in vibrant red or yellow pools of bubbling liquid.

Karasuma was quickly coming to understand where Osorezan had gotten its name, and as they traveled farther down the path in the wake of mourners and tourists, she began to wish that their business on the mountain could have been done in the light of day. The atmosphere was otherworldly enough in broad sunlight—deathly still and silent other than the harsh calls of ravens as they darted and dove through the vaporous drafts high above their heads. She had no desire to see it in the dark with the sickly glow from sulfurous pools reflecting the hazy light of the heavens in a parody of starlight.

The scent of burning incense wafted from makeshift stone monuments built along the borders of the path, mingling with the pungent smell of sulfur in meandering wisps of vapor and smoke. Frowning at the small memorials adorned with cloth and coins, Karasuma thought of all the pilgrims who had made the trip to this place in the hope of reaching their loved ones past the boundary of death. It saddened her to think that a place filled with such human longing and sadness could be a doorway through which demons could enter the world.

"We're getting closer," Dante announced, slowing his pace ahead of her as he observed their surroundings more closely. They were approaching a red bridge that arched elegantly over a narrow stream.

"That's Sanzu River," Michael informed them. "They say that the souls of the dead have to cross it to escape."

Robin stumbled and Karasuma barely caught her in time before she landed on her hands and knees in the dirt. "Robin?"

Trying to catch her breath, Robin accepted her assistance and managed to stand up again though she was wavering on her feet. "I'm all right," she breathed. "But the power is starting to get to me. I can feel the energy of the gate as we get closer. It feels almost like it's weighing me down—as if my feet get heavier with every step toward it."

Frowning in worry, Karasuma looked up and met Dante's equally worried eyes. "Do you think it's much farther?"

"My guess is that it's just on the other side of this bridge."

"I can make it," Robin insisted, but Karasuma kept a firm hold on her arm as they crossed the bridge. She could feel the girl trembling beside her.

The bridge led to the shore of a large lake nestled in the hollow between mountain peaks. They passed small groups of tourists picnicking on the rocky white beach alongside more stone monuments adorned with pinwheels and various offerings. Mists floated over the surface of the lake, and though it was eerily beautiful, the winds blowing off the still waters smelled unpleasant and Karasuma doubted it would support life of any kind.

Finally, Dante stopped and turned in a slow circle. Spotting a small stone platform, he grinned broadly and nodded. "Who knew this would be so easy?"

When she got closer to it, Karasuma could see that the platform was actually designed to hold something; it seemed to be a display for an ornament of some kind, though the ornament was currently absent. Before she could get close enough to get a good look at it though, a sharp voice startled her. Dante, on the other hand, didn't seem concerned by the shouts from the middle aged woman as she exited a tent erected farther down the beach; unperturbed, he continued to inspect the platform with a satisfied expression.

"She says that you shouldn't be touching it," Karasuma warned him.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." He took a step away from the stone, his hands held up in a gesture of innocence as the woman's cries became more irate.

Karasuma noted that the crowds of pilgrims parted around the woman respectfully as she approached them across the sand. A man at her side was helping her along, and it was only when Karasuma saw the woman's unfocused gaze that Karasuma realized she was blind.

"She's an itako," Michael whispered in awe. "She's one of the mediums who can make contact with the spiritual world."

"Great," Dante said with a grin. "Maybe we can ask her the quickest way to hell."

The woman immediately focused on Dante when she got closer, her face creased as she frowned deeply at him. She began speaking rapidly, lecturing him for touching the vengeance stone and disturbing the spirits.

"It's bad enough that the vengeance stone is no longer contained by its master without gaijin angering the displaced souls that cling to it," the woman said with a scowl.

"Its master?" Karasuma asked curiously.

"Yes," the man beside the itako explained courteously. "Many years ago the sword that was housed within the vengeance stone was stolen. The sword kept the evil spirits at bay and allowed the other souls to find peace."

Dante nodded. "Just as I thought."

The itako's eyes focused on him despite her lack of sight. "You…" she breathed.

"Me?" Dante replied with a chuckle.

The woman's eyelashes fluttered and her pupils contracted. Her voice monotone, she said sharply, "Your brother. He is searching for you."

Dante's smile faded, his blue eyes flashing gold in the sunlight.

"He is dangerous—tainted by darkness, a soul divided in two." Her voice was gaining intensity as she continued, and she suddenly reached out and caught one of Dante's hands as she continued, "He is close now—closer than you think. He cannot be trusted…and yet…" Her eyes closed and she shook her head briefly as if shaking away a dream.

"And yet?" Dante whispered, his voice dark with emotion.

"I'm sorry," the woman muttered, quickly pulling her hand away from him as if his touch had burned her. "I can tell you nothing more. I've lost contact with the spirit."

Glancing between Dante and the itako in worry, the man beside her said quickly, "I apologize. Tanaka-sama is weary. Please excuse us." He began to lead the itako away from them, adding as an afterthought, "And please refrain from disturbing the vengeance stone again."

Dante's jovial attitude was nowhere to be seen as he watched them walk away, his expression pensive. Questions about his relationship with his estranged brother clamored in her mind, but she decided not to voice any of them; she could tell from his posture that he would not be receptive to such questions at the moment.

"Do you think this is it, then?" Michael asked eagerly when the itako was out of earshot. "Is this the gate?" Without getting too close, he stood on his toes and examined the platform curiously.

"She said that a sword used to be housed here," Karasuma replied, still watching the uncharacteristically silent Dante. "It's too perfect to be mere coincidence."

"I think I need to go back," Robin said suddenly, her voice weak.

Though Michael's question hadn't even gotten a reaction from Dante, he immediately looked at Robin when she spoke. "I don't think you should be here tonight," he said seriously.

Startled, Karasuma looked back at him. "What do you mean? I thought you were depending on Robin's power to help open the gate."

"I don't think it will be necessary. Vengeance can open the gate practically on her own anyway, and just look at her. She's already looks like she's going to pass out, and we haven't even unleashed the potential of power in this area."

"He's right." Robin clung tightly to Karasuma's arm. "I'll only get in the way here."

Observing her ghostly pallor, Karasuma said quickly, "Come on. Let's start heading back."

Robin nodded wordlessly and they began the return journey to the temple. Dante followed along behind them, lost in thought, and Karasuma looked back several times to make certain he was still there. The way back seemed easier, and Robin leaned on her less with every step. Soon, Robin was walking entirely under her own power and some of her color had returned.

Feeling more at ease, Karasuma gestured to one of the restaurants outside the temple. "We should stop and get something to eat."

"Sounds great," Michael exclaimed. "I'm starving."

Even Robin's mood brightened at the suggestion and she immediately entered into a debate with Michael about what kind of food was more appetizing. Karasuma let them discuss it without interjecting, focusing instead on Dante, who still hadn't said a word.

"What do you think?" she asked him mildly, trying to pull him out of his reverie.

"Hm? Oh. I don't care. I'm not really hungry."

Karasuma's eyes widened. "Not…hungry?" Though she had not known him long, one thing he had proven time and again was that he never passed up an opportunity to eat. "Is it because of what the itako told you about your brother?"

His eyes narrowed. "My brother's dead," he said coldly. "She was only trying to spook me so I wouldn't go near the stone again."

"I see." She nodded slowly to appease him, but she didn't think that even he believed what he was saying. "So, the reason you think Robin should stay behind isn't because—"

Cutting her off sharply, he said loudly, "I think we should go to that place over there." Looking up at him in surprise, Robin and Michael quickly agreed and they all started across the square toward the restaurant. Dante attempted to regain his cheerful air, but Karasuma could see how difficult it was for him to conjure it up again.

--------

Vergil couldn't understand it—and he loathed being unable to understand something, especially something so mundane. Though he was human--and therefore inherently foolish--Amon was fairly predictable to Vergil; his attempts to be tough and deal with his inadequacies on his own were unsurprising, and his selfishness in his interactions with Trish was likewise comprehensible. What Vergil could not understand was why he would bother to stand guard over Trish now while she slept restlessly on the ground beside him.

His actions were illogical on several levels. Not only was it of absolutely no benefit to the human to stay awake and let her sleep, but it was also useless for him to think he could defend her for even a moment. The fact that Amon was guarding her and not simply unable to sleep had never been anything less than fact in Vergil's mind; he knew that she trusted him even less now, and it seemed that even Amon had picked up on her attitude. Vergil found the entire situation comical. Though she likely wouldn't believe him even if he told her, Vergil had absolutely no intention of touching her again.

On top of his inability to comprehend his companions' actions, he was having serious doubts about his own sanity. Walking through the crumbling cathedral space on the floor below had been particularly unnerving. He knew that he had been in that place before, had lived there and served the being symbolized by the pile of rubble which had once been a towering statue sculpted into a godly aspect. He knew it, and yet could not remember it. The sense of knowing felt like a memory from another person's life—it did not belong to him, and yet it was there, overshadowed by that dark presence in his mind.

Shaking the eerie sensation away, he turned his attention from his troubled thoughts and focused on his companions again with a frown. Pushing himself away from the stone he had been leaning against while he attempted to meditate, he approached them slowly. "It's almost time," he announced with a casual air, watching in disgust as hope rose in the human's eyes. How anyone could be so eager to return to that pathetic world was another thing that was beyond Vergil's comprehension.

Vergil paused, glaring down at Trish. "Wake her quickly. I don't intend to wait for the next window." Looking away from her quickly, Vergil quelled the strange sense of panic he felt every time he looked at her. He rarely lost control, but he had done exactly that with her in his attempt to ensure that Dante would feel the way he wanted him to feel toward his long, lost brother returned from the dead. It had been necessary to do something unspeakable to spark his brother's hatred, and yet Vergil had gotten more carried away than he usually allowed. That didn't mean that he regretted doing what had to be done. He simply felt he had enjoyed it far too much—enough so that he had allowed his body and baser instincts to take control of his actions without his intellect holding them in check.

The sound of boots crunching against the rock-strewn ground announced his companions' approach, but he did not look away from the column before him. Soon he would be returning to the world of his birth—the world he had been willing to do almost anything to escape. Closing his eyes, he found his hand reaching for the pendant around his neck and remembered too late that the pendant was no longer in his possession.

_Dante_. A familiar ache tugged at Vergil's chest.

"Well?" Trish prompted sharply. "We're here. Are we going to do this or not?"

Opening his eyes again, Vergil slid his sword from its sheath and tucked the sheath beneath one arm. He rested the razor edge of the blade against his hand, watching in wonder as he sliced sharply into his skin and crimson welled up into the curve of his palm. Trish gasped in surprise, but he ignored her, placing his bloody hand against the column and watching as the runes engraved into its surface flared to life.

-------

Cool air tainted by the sour smell of volcanic runoff billowed through the open doorway, clouds moving across the moon casting gauzy shadows across the tatami. Robin paused in the doorway, suddenly unsure of herself as she regarded the devil hunter silhouetted against the moonlit courtyard. She shifted on her feet, watching as he pulled on a heavy boot roughly and zipped it up with a sigh.

"I won't bite," he said with a sideways smile.

Robin's hands clenched in her skirt as she crossed the threshold into the dark room. Standing beside him on the edge of the porch, she hesitated again, feeling very awkward around this man she barely knew who had been so kind to her for no reason she could understand. "Karasuma is worried about you doing this alone," she said quietly, wishing the night would swallow her words. She had brought up Karasuma's feelings because she didn't feel familiar enough with him to voice her own.

He glanced up at her as he reached for his other boot. "Of course she is. Just like she's worried that I drank too much at dinner. I swear I could have done without a mother on this trip."

Robin bit her lip and looked sadly out into the night.

Gazing up at her again when he had finished fastening his other boot, Dante patted the porch next to him, inviting her to sit down. Clumsily Robin seated herself next to him, feeling his eyes on her as she straightened her skirt and avoided looking at him.

"Karasuma is worried because it's in her nature," he said firmly. "But I'm not opening the gate single-handedly. Vengeance is going to be doing most of the work, and it's not as if I don't know how to take care of myself, anyway."

"Vengeance doesn't seem to like you," Robin said carefully, daring a glance up at him.

Dante chuckled. "I don't think she likes anyone. It's not in her job description. She's a weapon, and if she has emotions, they're not human in nature—they're only the kind of warped imitation demons can manage. But she wanted to go home, and we brought her here. I don't see anything to be worried about. Even if she does try to double cross me, it's not like I've never fought a demon before. It's what I do for a living, remember?"

Though his words only made Robin feel slightly better, she nodded for his benefit.

"Hey," he said gently. "Want to tell me what's really bothering you?"

Swallowing, Robin found her hands clenching in her skirt again. "I've been thinking. What we're trying to do…opening a door to the underworld…it seems selfish."

She could feel his surprise clearly through their connection. "What do you mean?"

"We are doing it because we want to rescue our friends, but it's a dangerous risk to take," she said slowly and deliberately. "We are putting the whole world at risk by taking it, and our odds of success are slim. I'm starting to wonder if by doing it we're merely doing Lucifer's bidding. From what you told me about Beatrice, she went to a lot of trouble to do exactly what we're attempting now, and we went through a lot to stop her. I'm afraid that we're giving into temptation by selfishly risking everything to save only a few people when we should be focusing on saving everyone by destroying Lucifer instead."

Dante considered her silently, his expression grim. "Even with our connection…" he murmured, "I had no idea that's how you felt. I thought you wanted to bring Amon back more than anyone."

"I did—I do…" Robin wrung her hands. "But I don't think I should put what I want above everything else. I have a bad feeling about this, as if we are failing a test by putting our own interests before our duty to stop Lucifer."

"What about our duty to our comrades?" Dante's voice was cold and his feeling of betrayal was almost too much for her. While she was arguing against Amon's rescue, it wasn't for lack of wanting it. She wanted it so badly that the pain of the desire cut through her like a knife. But she felt guilty for wanting it when it could endanger the lives of innocents.

"Would they want us to risk the world to save them?" Robin honestly didn't know the answer to her question—she almost hoped he could answer it for her. She wanted him to tell her she was wrong, reassure her fears and tell why her argument didn't make sense.

A sour smile on his face, he looked away from her, his eyes focused on the rocky ground between his feet. "I'm sorry, Robin. I'm all for saving the world, but I can't just give up without trying. We have no leads on where to find Lucifer—no place to even start. If we knew where he was and what he was planning, then we would probably be there trying to stop him by now. But we don't have a clue.

"We do know where Amon and Trish are, though--and how to get there. I realize I don't take risks nearly as seriously as you do—which isn't to say I shouldn't—but I've been to hell before, and I've managed the trip there and back without bringing about the apocalypse." He sighed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the stars as a bank of low hanging clouds slowly swallowed them a few at a time. "I respect your opinion, Robin, and I don't want you to think I'm ignoring what you're saying. The chances of us actually finding them waiting for us on the other side are microscopic, but I still have to try."

Robin frowned at him. "It feels like a trap."

He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. "Are you saying that because of what that taco lady said? Even assuming she isn't some wacko quack, she supposedly communicates with the souls of the dead, right? And ghosts aren't anything to worry about. My brother's ghost can't possibly be any more irritating than he was when he was alive."

"But the itako said he was dangerous," Robin insisted, only blinking in surprise at the fact that his brother was dead.

"Like I said, she was trying to scare us off."

Frustration boiled up inside of her. He was being irrationally stubborn about this. "You act like it doesn't bother you, but I can feel that you are lying, Dante."

Dante sighed deeply. "Damn, you're a hard sell." Shifting beside her on the porch, he bent one leg in front of him and turned to face her. "Okay. Let's start over. I am opening that gate tonight, and I'm going to poke my head in and see what's on the other side. If you want to try to stop me, feel free. With your new funky powers, I don't doubt you could beat the shit out of me if you put your heart into it. But unless I'm physically incapacitated, I'm going through with this and I'm not changing my mind."

Though his tone was not exactly angry, she could feel hints of anger bubbling beneath his wry expression. She felt uncomfortable arguing with him—especially when half of her wanted to agree with what he was saying so very badly—but she felt that she couldn't just let her argument go without a satisfactory answer. Trying a different tactic, she asked quietly, "Are you sure your brother is dead?"

His eyes widened momentarily before he looked away, emotion twisting his features. "I killed him. I should know."

Robin clutched her hand to her chest as she felt a wave of pain and regret surge through their connection. Either he had been managing to keep these emotions from her all afternoon, or she had been so distracted by the malevolent energy saturating Osorezan that she had failed to notice them. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He smirked suddenly, though the expression was painfully sardonic. "I'm not. It's not like we were ever close."

Losing the tenuous sense of certainty her determination had given her, Robin remained silent. She found she had no idea what else to say. Luckily, Dante spoke before she felt obligated to find a response.

Focusing his eyes on her again, he said gravely, "Listen. I'll make you a promise. If this doesn't work and Trish and Amon aren't there waiting on the other side, I won't go through the gate looking for them. We'll let it close and seal it up again. And then we'll focus on Lucifer and hope they can find their own way home. Deal?"

Tentatively, Robin asked, "And if your brother's on the other side instead?"

Smirking again as he rose to his feet abruptly and dusted off his jacket, he said with resolve, "Then I'll kill him again." Scooping up his guns and shoving them in their holsters, he turned to face her as he began backing toward the exit of the courtyard. "Take care of yourself while I'm busy, will you? I don't want to come back and find you trading hairstyling tips with Lucy. My guess is he uses human blood for hair gel."

Robin smiled faintly and nodded. "Be careful."

She watched him walk away into the night, thinking about Amon and praying that the next time she saw Dante, Amon would be with him—alive and in one piece. She knew she had no right to wish for such a thing so fervently. Amon was barely a friend and had rarely been kind to her, and yet his absence left an emptiness inside of her that she couldn't explain. She felt as if she had forgotten something very important among her missing memories, and she wanted to believe that she might remember it if she could only see him again.

**Baba Yaga is a scary, cannibalistic witch figure in Slavic folklore used to scare children into behaving. She lives in a hut on the edge of the forest and is regarded as the devil's own grandmother. I took a Slavic Folklore class in college and found the Baba Yaga stories fascinating. How Dante knows the reference is anyone's guess. Probably the same way Sawyer knows most of the literary allusions he spouts in Lost…**

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**I have never been to Osorezan before, but my friend, Shivaindis, inspired me to use it as the location of the gate in my story, and the more I read about it the more interested I am in seeing it some day. A pretty spooky location to be sure.**

**Also, before I sign off I wanted to say that I can promise that everyone will be meeting up again in the next chapter. I had intended to work it into this chapter, but it didn't quite work out. Still, I can guarantee it because I've already written part of the chapter. I'll work hard to update as soon as I can! Until then, do your part and let me know what you think….please? I do so enjoy hearing from you. Plus, I've lost track of so many of my readers and I want to know what's going on with you. Don't feel like you have to stick straight to the facts. PM me if nothing else! I miss you guys!**

**---------One last thing…. Libera Me, the prequel to this story has been nominated for the UFO Fanfiction Awards. First round voting is still going on until the end of August, so if you enjoyed Libera Me and haven't voted already, go to www . dotmoon . net / awards / (remove spaces) and vote for my story.-------**


	8. Crossing Over

**Author's Note: Here it is at last. The reunion I've been promising for countless chapters now…Some of the characters are disappointed by the way things turned out, but I hope you won't be. I'm really excited to have everyone back together finally and I already have a ton of ideas for the next several chapters (as well as a few things already written). **

**Chapter Eight**

**Crossing Over**

Dark power stirred in the night air, and Lucifer's nostrils flared at the faint scent of home on the breeze. Closing his eyes and drinking in the sensation, he wondered how long it would be before he could return to that place triumphant and reclaim his ancient throne in glory. But patience was his ally now. He was weak in this world and still less than whole. No, he could do nothing now. He had to wait a little longer yet before making his move.

Leaning against the stone balcony, he peered out into the night, imagining in his mind's eye the desolate beach where the power was gathering, the demon realm drawing to the surface of the human world, reaching out a jagged finger and straining to break through the boundary.

If his timing had only been a little better this second incursion past the barrier would not have been necessary, but his servant had not been ready for the journey when Beatrice managed to break him out of his cage between the realms. Still, it was a pleasing irony that the half demon descendants of the traitor, Sparda, were the ones forced to open the door this time.

The gate was opening. He could feel the pull of his homeland calling to him even across the distance between them. Lucifer smiled tautly, wishing he could be there to see the power whirling through the air firsthand.

He hoped that Vengeance would have the restraint to do as he had asked. In his current form, he knew that he was weaker than he used to be and less capable of following through with his threats; he could only hope that his servants were still unaware of this fact. It was ironic that, despite her name, she would be denied her revenge by fulfilling her duty to him. Before everything was over he would give her what she desired, though. It was, after all, the thing he was best at doing.

Sighing, Lucifer turned away from the balcony and returned to the dark room richly adorned with plush carpets and velvet drapery, a luxurious place to pass the time. It bored him. Perhaps he should risk a small sojourn out among the public. It had been so long since he had been able to interact with humans directly.

The possibility was all the more enticing now that all the players in his little production had arrived. Everything leading to this point was merely prologue. Now the real story could begin.

* * *

The tower trembled beneath them and Trish adjusted her stance, the battle cry of distant demons making her spine stiffen with anticipation. Her back to the stone column Vergil had activated, she scanned the horizon for the demons, spotting scores of black creatures approaching at a frenzied pace.

"They sense the gate opening," Vergil noted calmly, as if she and Amon were too dense to figure that fact out for themselves. Sliding fluidly into a battle stance, his hand hovered over the hilt of his katana, icy blue eyes focused on the horizon and waited.

Trish could feel Amon's craft flaring behind her, but she kept herself between him and the demons in case he couldn't control it well enough to defend himself. Though she was aware of his lessons with Vergil, she didn't know how much someone as uninterested as Vergil would care to teach a mere human. While she could tell for herself that Vergil was extremely talented, his abilities didn't necessarily make him a good teacher either.

She didn't want to leave Amon's safety to chance regardless—not when they were this close to escape. It had nothing to do with his unexpected kindness, she told herself, though she half suspected her eagerness to overlook his kindness was because she didn't like the idea of Amon being aware of what had happened between her and Vergil.

Regardless, the brief rest had helped to restore some of her energy and she was already gathering lightning to her fingertips before the first demon came within reach. Vergil dispatched of several demons before she got a chance to attack even one, but the battle quickly became harried enough that didn't have time to pay attention to Vergil's kill count. To her relief, Amon managed to fell a few creatures on his own, wild blasts of icy energy taking out swaths of demons at once.

Finally the pull of the gate began tugging her backwards and the swarm of demons began to thin.

"If we still intend to use this gate, we need to go through it now," Vergil snapped at her. "We can take care of any stragglers on the other side."

Nodding, Trish turned to the torrent of energy, making sure Amon was at her side before she leapt into the miasma, taking out a few more demons with a final burst of electricity.

* * *

"Robin, are you okay?" Michael looked up from his game the second he heard Robin moan. He had tried to keep her occupied with a card game, but she had refused, saying she was unable to concentrate. For his part, Michael had never been very good at simply sitting and waiting, so he had found something to occupy his mind.

"The gate's opening," she whispered as she cradled her head in her hands. "I can feel it."

"Can you sense Amon?" Michael asked cautiously, leaning forward in his seat unconsciously.

Shaking her head, she replied, "There's too much energy in the air. It's too confused for me too tell."

Michael nodded, staring blankly down at his DS. Turning off the power, he decided that he couldn't concentrate anymore either.

* * *

Surprisingly, opening a door to the underworld was turning out to be a lot easier than Dante had expected. Vengeance had been more than eager to get things started the moment he placed her on the stone platform, her voice echoing in his head as she instructed him to spill his blood on the sand in order to activate the gate.

The resulting explosion of power from the ground beneath his feet had been enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He had caught Karasuma's eye as a glowing circle of light inscribed with various runes wrote itself across the beach. Though she was attempting to keep her cool, she was clearly terrified. Dante took comfort in the fact that Robin was safe in the temple with Michael, hopefully far enough away from the inferno of energy to avoid any ill effects.

While Dante had attempted to convince Karasuma to stay with her as well, she had insisted on coming along to be a lookout and make sure no innocents got involved. He had a feeling she had come along as much to keep an eye on him and ensure he didn't do anything stupid as to keep innocents from wandering in and falling into hell. A thunderstorm had rolled in a little before midnight anyway, providing good cover for their activities, and the beach had been deserted when they arrived.

Vengeance seemed pleased with herself, blazing with light and trembling with power. He smirked at the sword as he felt the ground quaking beneath him, remembering her insatiable excitement. She had been beside herself the entire way from the temple to this spot ranting about how good it was to finally be home and how the entire glorious mountain belonged to her.

"You do realize this place is a volcanic wasteland, don't you?" Dante had asked her wryly when she was waxing poetic about the virtues of her land.

She had not taken kindly to his sarcasm, or his constant remarks about how she should invest in an air freshener. But her anger had done little to dampen her enthusiasm when the stone platform had come into view. Dante hadn't minded arguing with her anyway—it kept his mind busy, and he definitely needed the distraction at the moment.

A crack formed in the ground at the center of the circle and Dante braced himself, drawing his guns simply to feel their reassuring solidity in his hands. Dark, vaporous clouds were gathering beneath the thunderclouds hanging low over the lake, glowing in reflected yellowish light from the landscape below. Thunder rumbled in a sonorous tone foretelling the opening of the gate.

Suddenly, Vengeance screamed in his mind. "I can't believe it! It's him! He's on the other side. At last I'll have my revenge!"

Though he was not surprised by her revelation, Dante's heart felt as if it would burst as it pounded against his ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. He knew who she was talking about, and though he knew it should have been impossible he also knew it was true. Her reaction had confirmed the suspicions the itako had awakened inside him. How his brother could have survived was not important at this point. All that mattered was that he was alive and that he was waiting on the other side of the gate.

A sudden rush of power tangled Dante's hair in front of his eyes as the gate lurched open, the demon realm sucking power through its widening maw like a vacuum inexorably consumed air. Dante wavered on his feet, the shifting balance of power as well as his current link to its stability weakening him considerably. While Vengeance was ultimately in control of the process, he had tied himself to it as well by using his blood as a sacrifice.

He prepared himself for demons to come rushing through the gate as the crack grew wider, expecting demon spawn not to waste any time escaping into the human world to feed.

None came.

An unearthly glow emanated from the opening, casting ruddy shadows across the beach and turning it the color of blood, but still nothing emerged from the widening door. Dante was growing impatient, his hands flexing on his guns anxiously as he waited. Would his brother be the only one to come through the gate? Was it too much to hope for that Trish and Amon would be there beside him? Or should he not be hoping for such a thing at all? Did he really want Trish to be indebted to someone like Vergil?

At last something emerged from the gate, something large and black and ominous. It was a goat devil of some sort—Dante had never bothered to categorize all the demons he encountered with names. At some point he had gotten tired of trying to come up with creative titles for the unknown forms of demons he continually encountered, so he gave them other, less creative names. This kind of demon he fondly referred to as "shithead." Immediately following the shithead through the gate was a swarm of screechy, flaming bird-type creatures he liked to call "fiery little bastards." They were small, but annoying.

Leaping into the air with a sigh, Dante focused on the shithead first with a sharp blow to its big, ugly horned head. On his way back down to earth, he showered the fiery little bastards with a volley of bullets so they wouldn't feel left out. They all promptly turned to stone. Taking a big breath, he launched after each one with a powerful swing of his sword, trying to destroy them before they reformed as even larger and more annoying creatures. He missed three of them.

Five minutes later, the three little bastards had split apart and reformulated into eighteen separate sources of annoyance. Shaking one of them off his shoulder roughly, Dante took after the shithead again with vigor. It was then, as he was flying through the air toward the monster, that he noticed demons were not the only things that had come through the gate. His connection with Amon exploded into being and distracted him enough for the shithead to land a blow on him before he could dodge.

Skidding to a disoriented stop in the sand, Dante tried to focus on the beach and find Amon—and hopefully Trish as well. Three figures stood near the edge of the opening, one of them obviously female. He recognized Amon's slumped figure a moment later, but all rational thought immediately left him when he laid eyes on the third.

"Game on," he said under his breath, crawling back to his feet without taking his eyes off the silvery haired prick standing next to Trish and Amon.

Absently ordering Vengeance to close the gate now that they no longer needed it, he raced across the sand dispatching demons along the way.

* * *

They were halfway through the gate when he felt it—the sensation of being divided in two. Something in the underworld was clinging to him, latched on to his soul like a claw and refusing to relinquish his spirit. His body, meanwhile, was being pulled relentlessly through the gate to the other side, and the bonds that connected the two were beginning to fray around the edges.

A scream ripped from his throat, though the sound was swallowed nearly instantaneously by the roar of the power around them. Somehow, Trish managed to hear it, reaching out for him and gripping his arm before he was out of reach. He clung to her hand and his soul in equal measure trying to tear away from the grasp of the underworld. While he had not taken Vergil's and Trish's warnings lightly, he had not fully comprehended how unwilling the demon world would be to let a human soul escape—even when it was still inside a living human body.

Trish's blue eyes were wide as she gazed at him in concern as if she sensed the struggle going on within him. Squinting down at the tower in the demon world so far beneath them, she lashed out with a surge of power and Amon felt the grip on his soul loosen. Gasping for breath, he reached for his craft and pulled it around them like a cloak, thinking that if he could shield himself from hell's power he might be able to break free.

He realized too late that he had made a mistake.

"No, Amon!" Trish howled.

He barely heard her over the pain screaming through his mind. Though he had managed to bind most of his soul back into his body, part of it had been beyond the shield when he created it, still clutched by the power of the underworld. The strain became too great and part of his soul tore away from him, tumbling back toward hell.

Amon fought against the pain, clinging to Trish's hand as their destination grew closer and trying not to think about the piece of himself that was still trapped on the other side. He could feel Trish's eyes watching him closely, but he had no attention to spare for her. They were close now and he could feel the underworld scrambling for the rest of his soul again, unsatisfied by the small bite it had already taken out of him.

Looking up, he saw the human world above them. The sensation of flying upwards toward the ground was so disconcerting that he nearly blacked out before he felt the solidness of rock beneath his feet and the blessed coolness of the air. He was clenching Trish's hand so tightly that he was surprised she had not cried out in pain, but he quickly released it when he realized they were finally standing on firm ground again.

The air smelled sharply of sulfur, but he welcomed the scent, deciding it was the freshest air he had inhaled for days. He could sense the power that had been searching for his soul draw back in pain when it got close to the human world. The constant tug on his craft was fading as well now that the influence of the demon realm was dissolving, and he felt the urge to laugh out loud at the sheer relief. He felt lighter than the blessedly moist air filling his lungs, as if he could float away on the smallest breeze.

"Amon!" Trish cried, grasping his arm to get his attention. "Are you okay?"

He could tell by the look in her eyes that she feared he had left his soul behind entirely and that the man she was looking at was nothing more than a hollow shell. "I think so," he replied. "Part of me…is still back there." He gestured at the gaping chasm behind them. "But most of me made it through."

She nodded uncertainly, but her attention was quickly captured by the scream of a demon as it swooped by them. Lashing out with her power, she took off after the demon before it could get too far. Feeling suddenly weak, Amon watched her go, trying to make out the shapes of other creatures as they dove through the whorls of vapor drifting off of a nearby lake, but his eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the more proper colors of the human world.

_Where is Robin?_ He wondered. His connection to her had flared to life the moment he touched the ground, reassuring him that she was alive, but she was nowhere in sight. His need to see her with his own eyes and know she was safe outweighed anything else at the moment.

* * *

Karasuma ducked as a demon went flying over her head, disintegrating into dust as it landed against a large rock behind her. When she looked up to see if any others were on their way, her gun clutched shakily in one hand, she found Dante smirking at her. "That should be the last one," he said with a flippant salute.

"Were they on the other side?" she demanded, following him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the fading circle of runes etched into the beach. "Are they here?"

He didn't need to respond because she could see Amon and Trish for herself when they broke through a swirl of fog at the edge of the circle. A third figure was standing apart from them, flinging a demon off his sword before resheathing the blade with fluid grace. She stopped in her tracks, stunned momentarily by his raw physical resemblance to Dante; his hair was pushed back from his face and his features were twisted into a haughty expression, but it was still obvious that they were more than simply siblings. They were identical twins.

Dante had continued walking, his eyes focused intently on his brother. He walked right past Trish and Amon without a glance in their direction and Karasuma gasped in surprise, seeing the hurt on Trish's face.

"Well, well," Dante called to his brother. "Look who's crashing the party. Can't you even die right?" His smile was visceral in the dim, irregular light.

His brother did not react to Dante's sarcasm, regarding him serenely while his hand rested casually on his sword. "It's good to see you too…brother," he said with a humorless smile.

Vengeance materialized from the fog beside Karasuma suddenly, running across the sand in her human form and swinging her enormous blade toward the brothers. Both of them dodged the blow, Dante ducking and rolling to the side and his brother appearing to phase out of existence for the briefest of moments before reappearing a few steps away.

"Traitor!" Vengeance screamed, storming across the distance between her and Dante's brother. "You made a promise to me, Sparda!"

Somehow he managed to draw his sword in time to block her weapon, sparks flying through the air between them as their blades whined against each other. "I don't know you," he growled through gritted teeth as he deflected her sword through pure strength of will.

"A ridiculous excuse," she scoffed, taking a moment to regroup as she glared at him fiercely. "You are a liar, Vergil. We fought as one for many years, inseparable and unparalleled in strength. We fought your worthless brother together and nearly defeated him except for a cheap trick of his."

"Who are you calling worthless?" Dante snapped, but she ignored him.

"And then you disappeared, leaving me behind without fulfilling your promise. I will never forgive you. And now I will exact your punishment for betrayal."

Vergil's face was a study in mingled outrage and bemusement. Shaking himself slightly, he said just loudly enough for her to hear him over the soft lapping of waves against the shore behind them, " You're welcome to try, but I can assure you that I have never promised you anything. You have the wrong man."

Raising her sword, she retorted dryly, "I've been told that before." She glanced at Dante with a scowl before returning her attention to Vergil. "But I know you." Approaching him adversarily, she continued, "You are Nero Angelo, the dark angel who brought death to so many and the lord I served for more than a decade. I believed in you…and you left me behind to rot in this pathetic world."

Karasuma shivered at Vengeance's description of Dante's brother, remembering what the itako had said about him. To her surprise, Vergil flinched at the weapon's words as well, clutching his forehead with a soft moan of pain. Not about to waste the opportunity, Vengeance swung her sword at him with a roar of pure rage and he attempted to dodge the blow, unexpectedly clumsy as he stumbled to one knee, supporting himself with his sheathed sword in the sand. The blade continued plummeting toward him and would have sliced him in half if another sword hadn't swung into its path, stopping its progress with a resounding clang.

Glaring at her, Dante growled, "Cool your jets for a second, Vengeance. I want some answers from him before you play piñata."

"He betrayed me!" she howled, driving her sword against Dante's and shoving him backward a step over the sand.

"Yeah? Well get in line, sister, because you aren't his first."

"This is ridiculous," Trish grumbled under her breath, drawing Karasuma's attention away from the bizarre feud. Karasuma realized that she had managed to make it across the beach to Trish and Amon but had been too wrapped up in the drama unfolding before them to notice. "You'd think they were sparring over a lover," Trish added sourly. Waving her hand dismissively, Trish turned her back on the battle and smiled wearily at Karasuma. "It's good to see you again."

"And you," Karasuma agreed. Looking up at Amon, she realized he was still engrossed in the argument. "Amon?"

Shifting his attention to her with a shake of his head, his eyes focused on her but did not seem to truly see her for a moment or two. "Miho," he said, his voice rough and faint enough that it was barely audible.

On impulse, she found herself throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him as if their relationship had always been so personal. He awkwardly accepted her embrace, and she wondered briefly if he might be injured and she had inadvertently caused him pain. But his emotions spilled into her mind despite her attempt to keep her craft at bay, and she realized that while he was in pain, his worry for Robin was foremost in his mind.

Pulling away from him, she apologized uncertainly. "I'm sorry…it's just such a relief to see you. Things have been difficult without you around—and we were worried about you."

He nodded, but seemed to be at a loss for words.

"You'll want to see Robin," she said in a rush, trying to move past the awkwardness of the moment as soon as possible. "There's…something you should know first."

* * *

"Enough," Vergil snarled, his patience wearing thin. Dante and Vengeance blinked at him with startled expressions, as if they had forgotten that the subject of their spat was standing right beside them. "This is a waste of time." Anger flared in Dante's eyes and Vergil tried to ignore the meaningless swell of triumph the reaction created inside him; the habit was so deeply ingrained that it was easy to fall into the familiar game without realizing it. "We have more important things to discuss."

Jabbing a finger at Vengeance, he added, "And you. If you want to attempt challenging me after this is over, I will fight you, but I came here for a purpose—not for the amusing company. Your vendetta will have to wait."

"And what purpose would that be?" Dante asked with a wry twist to his lips.

Shifting his attention back to Dante, Vergil merely regarded him silently, forcing a pause in the discussion in order to regain the upper hand—that was part of the reason for his pause, at least. The other part was more personal, and therefore something he refused to acknowledge.

Dante looked older than he remembered him, the chiseled lines of his face more pronounced than they had been—Vergil wondered absently if his own reflection would look the same. Dante's shoulders had broadened as well, his physique leaner and more sinewy, and he was tall enough that Vergil suspected his brother had gained an inch on him. For an unsettling moment, Vergil wondered if he had seen this older version of his brother already and simply forgotten it—just as he had forgotten his supposed alliance with the sword.

Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Dante shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked away from Vergil's gaze. Smirking suddenly, he remarked, "I don't know why I expected a straight answer out of you."

"Because you're an idiot." Trish entered the conversation abruptly, her arms crossed under her breasts. Vergil avoided meeting her gaze, simply keeping an eye on her in his peripheral vision; from what he could see of her expression, she was extremely annoyed. He felt himself smiling at Dante's foolishness and wondering if targeting Trish in order to get to Dante had been a mistake. Dante was gaping at her as if he had completely forgotten about her existence until she was standing in front of him.

"Trish," Dante breathed, and the relief and affection in his voice reassured Vergil that he had made the right choice.

The emotion in his voice clearly hadn't been enough to reassure her, though. "I'm going with Amon and Karasuma to the temple. You can all join us there when you're done with your playground brawl."

She turned away and left without another word, and the realization on Dante's face that he had made a mistake was like sweet honey to Vergil. Somewhere deep inside he found it vaguely satisfying that Dante had been so occupied with him from the moment he saw him that he hadn't even paused to greet his lover and make sure that she was well. Dante pretended that he didn't give a damn about Vergil, but his actions said otherwise.

While Dante was still gazing after Trish, Vengeance also turned away with a scowl. "I would rather stay here than go back to that dismal temple. But I will be waiting for you," she pointed her blade at Vergil menacingly. "And this time, you will come to me."

A cold fear slithered down Vergil's spine as she walked away, and he felt as if she were implying something about his future that he was unaware of. The idea shouldn't have been so surprising, he supposed. She was a demon, after all. Why wouldn't she be under Lucifer's influence? Closing his eyes, Vergil tried to center himself again, fighting against the dark presence in his mind as it seemed to cackle coldly at him.

"So…" Dante said quietly, "Let's have a nice brotherly chat, shall we?"

Vergil's eyes opened halfway. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Really? Too bad I don't give a fuck what you think."

Sighing resignedly, Vergil began walking down the beach after Trish. "You haven't matured a day since we were children, have you, Dante?"

Dante placed a hand on his chest as he passed and attempted to shove him back a step. Vergil held his ground, digging his heels into the sand. "I want some answers," Dante demanded.

Eyes narrowed, Vergil took a step forward despite Dante's efforts to hold him back, gripping the front of Dante's jacket and hissing in his face, "I don't know how I survived, and I didn't come back to kill you. I'm here because we have a common enemy. You might have met him. He goes by the name of Lucifer, and unless we stop him, he's going to claim this world for his own."

"And you care because…?" Dante was trying not to show that he was intimidated by Vergil's offensive posture, but Vergil could feel him shying away from him.

Shoving him back and brushing his hand away, Vergil replied brusquely, "If he wins, he will rule all. And I refuse to serve anyone."

"So, I'm just supposed to just take it at that? You're on our side because you don't want to tie Lucy's shoes? That's pretty lame, Verge."

"What do you want to hear?"

Raising his sword to Vergil's chest, Dante asked, "A reason. Why should I let you live? Just because we share an enemy doesn't mean we have to be friends."

Vergil glanced uninterestedly down at Dante's sword. "Do you know where Lucifer is? Do you know how to find him?"

"You think I would actually tell you that?" Dante's smirk was not arrogant enough to fool Vergil.

"Well I _do_ know how to find him," Vergil said crisply. "And I know his weakness."

Dante's smile widened. "What do you need us for, then?"

Sighing, Vergil brushed Dante's sword away lightly with his palm, ignoring the bite of blade into his skin. "I hadn't intended to get into all of this with you here and now, but I can see that I have no choice. Many years ago, our father sealed Lucifer away. It was the task that proved to be his ultimate undoing, though he never shared that fact with our mother, so she could never pass that knowledge on to us. He sealed Lucifer's soul in the limbo between realms--what some refer to as purgatory--and sealed his body somewhere in the human realm. Without his body, Lucifer cannot return to hell. Without returning to hell, he cannot command its armies and take over this world."

"So, where is his body?" Dante demanded, pointedly ignoring the more obvious question of how Vergil had managed to discover all of this information. Vergil smiled inwardly at Dante's failure to question his sources; though Dante did not trust him, he knew better than to doubt Vergil's talent for uncovering an enemy's weaknesses.

Returning his attention to Dante, Vergil paused simply to see how long Dante's patience would last. Finally, he replied, "I know where it is in theory, but I don't know how to get there."

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"I can find it with a little research. Regardless, the important point in all of this is that the seal over Lucifer's body is quite old by now and likely crumbling. If Lucifer were to find it before us, he could easily break through the protections our father created."

"I still don't see why I shouldn't just take this helpful information and dispose of you right here."

"That much should be obvious. Because our father's blood flows in our veins, we are the only ones capable of renewing the seal. And perhaps, if we are lucky, we can succeed where our father failed and manage to destroy Lucifer's body completely. I'm also certain this is something neither of us could do alone."

Dante nodded, a slow smile spreading over his face. "How convenient."

"Hardly." Scowling, Vergil turned away and began striding down the beach, considering their conversation finished.

Dante returned his sword to its place on his back and followed after him. "Hold on. I didn't say we were done."

"I have nothing more to say at the moment. Conversing with you always exhausts me." Honestly, the conversation with Dante was only the tip of the iceberg; he hadn't felt quite right since Vengeance started talking about his other life as Nero Angelo. He was weary from opening the gate and unsettled by the presence within his mind--and Dante would have to simply wait.

Grabbing his arm brutally and pulling him to a stop again with infuriating determination, Dante growled, "Let's get something straight. You're not part of the team. You're an outsider, and that's not going to change because I don't trust you, and I never will. You can tag along with us until you get bored, but I swear, if you do anything to hurt any of them, you'll wish you had stayed dead."

The passion in Dante's eyes made Vergil ache inside. How long had it been since Dante had been that protective of him? He could remember a boy with a big heart who had defended his brother despite his brother's scorn; how Dante had managed to care for him despite his apathy had often astounded him in circumspect, but it was obvious now that any nurturing feelings left within Dante would never again be directed at him.

"Save your energy to defend them against Lucifer," Vergil murmured. "I am here because I know it will take both of us to defeat Lucifer. I am uninterested in anyone else." _Almost anyone, at least_. He had to clench his hand to keep himself from forcefully removing Dante's grip from his arm.

Dante's hand slowly loosened, but his glare did not weaken. "The second I find out that's not true, you'll be kicked out so fast you'll have the shape of my boot in your ass."

Repressing a groan, Vergil turned away again. "Your wit, as usual, is painfully trite."

"It wasn't my intention to entertain you."

* * *

Robin paced anxiously just inside the gate of the temple. Several of the monks and visitors for the night had come outside at the strange sounds and lights originating from the beach. Some had chosen to view them as a thunderstorm, straining to find a rational explanation so that they could dismiss them and go back to bed. Others claimed that the spirits had been angered and packed up to leave immediately.

In the end, several itako had appeared to quell the communal fear and usher the people back inside. They frowned disapprovingly at Robin and Michael as if they knew what was really going on, but they made no attempt to stop what was happening. Instead, they simply informed them that they expected them to leave the mountain as soon as they were finished. It was more tolerance than Robin could have hoped for from them, but it made her anxious just the same.

While she was grateful for the quiet when they were alone again, she felt even more anxious than before since she had nothing left to distract her from her worry. She had felt the gate closing again a while ago, and she had also sensed Amon's presence though he seemed to be in a good deal of pain. For some reason, she felt as if he was thinking about her as well, but she dismissed the idea immediately. Why would Amon be so concerned about her?

"I'm going to go meet them," Robin announced suddenly, her hands clenched at her sides and her face set with determination.

"Robin, you can't," Michael protested weakly. She knew he wanted to know what was going on just as badly as she did. "It's too dangerous."

He was right and she knew it; though the gate had closed, there was still enough energy in the area to probably incapacitate her if she tried to get too close. She didn't know why the demonic energy seemed to affect her in this way, but it was a worrying weakness in her new powers. How could she have fought against Lucifer if his power was the same as the power coming from the demon world? It didn't make sense.

Her entire body tensed at the faint sound of boots crunching against gravel. She sprinted through the gate and into the open space beyond, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she caught sight of three figures approaching down the path. Her eyes found Amon immediately and his gaze snapped up to meets hers with startling intensity. The connection between them doubled in strength and she reeled in the blur of emotion, her heart nearly bursting with the conflicted force of it.

He looked away before she could make sense of the emotions, and the connection dimmed slightly as if he had forced up a wall between them. She frowned, realizing that he was the same as before, always pushing her away and keeping her at arm's length. Why had she imagined that anything could have changed?

"They made it," Michael murmured beside her, but she couldn't tell from his tone of voice whether he was relieved or troubled by that fact.

"Robin," the blond haired woman standing next to Karasuma said fondly when they were closer. "You're okay?" Robin blinked at her uncertainly and she seemed to realize her error. "Sorry. I'm Trish, Dante's partner. Karasuma told us about your amnesia."

Nodding in understanding, Robin looked more closely at the woman now that she had a name and connection to go with the face. She was beautiful, tall and lithe, with straight blond hair that fell to just below her waist and brilliant blue eyes that sparkled darkly. Robin felt suddenly foolish for ever suggesting that Dante might be interested in Karasuma; though Karasuma was intelligent and attractive in her own way, this woman clearly fit his personality far better.

"Where is Dante?" Robin asked suddenly, realizing with a start that he was not with them. Her worries came crashing down around her again as soon as she noticed his absence and she reassured herself that she could still feel him through their connection, though his emotions felt even more conflicted to her than Amon's. Slowly, she became aware of Amon's gaze on her and looked at him quickly to catch his gaze before he shifted it away, but she was too late. She couldn't interpret the elusive emotion written on his features, partially because her best guesses at its meaning simply did not make sense.

"He's…with his brother," Karasuma explained haltingly, glancing at Trish who was scowling up at the night sky with her arms folded across her chest.

"His brother," Robin echoed. "He said his brother was dead…"

Trish laughed dryly, but did not explain.

Awkward silence fell and Karasuma filled it by mothering Robin. "What are you doing out here, anyway, Robin? I thought you promised to stay inside the temple."

"I had to know…" she murmured quietly, her eyes drifting toward Amon, but never quite landing on him directly.

"Lucifer didn't show up?" Karasuma persisted.

"No," Michael answered. "It was pretty boring waiting, really. They don't even have a TV in the room."

"I think the itako know what was going on," Robin said uncomfortably. "We are no longer welcome here. They already have a bus ready to take us back to Mutsu."

Karasuma nodded. "I can't say I'm surprised. If they can make contact with the spiritual world, they could probably tell exactly what we were doing. At least they didn't try to stop us." Glancing at Amon and frowning, she refocused her attention on Michael and said abruptly, "Michael, help me pack up our things and load them in the bus. We should leave as soon as Dante gets back." Michael started to protest, but changed his mind when he saw the severity of her expression.

Robin half turned to follow them, but hesitated and looked up at Amon, disappointed that none of her memories had returned upon seeing him. She felt more confused than ever about her feelings toward him, and had nearly given up on wondering about his feelings toward her.

Clearing her throat, Trish said uncertainly, "I'll go help them pack." Amon caught her wrist before she could walk away and she looked up at him in surprise. He seemed equally surprised by his action, a strange expression on his face; he seemed almost afraid to be alone with Robin, a fact that bothered her more than his indifference.

No one moved for several unbearably long seconds, and only the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. Amon released Trish's wrist instinctively and she took a step away from him. "I'll meet you two at the bus," she murmured faintly, disappearing into the temple grounds.

Robin forcefully redirected her attention elsewhere, trying to make out the two silver-haired men in the distance. A cold dread stirred inside of her when Dante's brother stepped into a pool of light which clearly illuminated his features; he looked unnervingly like Dante, and yet something about him made her instantly uneasy. His eyes focused on her appraisingly as well when he noticed her attention, a faint curve to his lips though it was difficult to tell whether it was a smile or something else entirely.

"You must be Robin," he said when they were within earshot, his voice silken and slightly deeper than Dante's.

To her surprise, Amon tensed and glared back at him frostily.

Dante seemed equally unhappy. "I think I might start wearing cleats just for you, Vergil," he commented airily, smirking darkly at his brother as if he were communicating a private message. Then, turning away from him, Dante continued walking toward the entrance of the temple, adding casually to Robin, "If he so much as looks at you wrong, I want to know." His hand brushed lightly against her shoulder and she could feel his emotions so clearly at that moment that she almost cried out.

Watching him walk away, she didn't notice Vergil pause beside Amon until she heard him speak.

"Was it important?" he inquired vaguely.

Amon blinked at him in confusion, but his brows drew together and his hands clenched into fists a moment later.

Vergil glanced at Robin briefly before returning his gaze to Amon. "I certainly hope not, because I don't think it's something you'll ever be getting back."

"I made it through the gate," Amon replied with icy calm, though she could feel how thin his restraint was.

"Yes," Vergil replied with a small smile. "Most of you, at least." Smugly nodding in her direction as he passed, Vergil followed his brother into the temple grounds.

"Amon," she murmured, unable to stop herself. She had no idea what Vergil had been referring to, but whatever it was it seemed to bother him a great deal.

His eyes finally focused on her again a wistful expression on his features. "We should go," he said, swallowing hard as he turned away.

Suddenly, Robin felt as if she was missing more than just her memories.

* * *

Trish had never been inside Bodaiji temple before, so she really didn't know where she was going. Frankly, she didn't care where she ended up so long as it was a place where she could have a moment to herself. Her emotions were hopelessly confused at the moment, but she had no doubt about the emotion within the potent mixture that kept rising to the top. Anger clutched at her chest as she walked, making her breaths short and hollow. She knew that she was being selfish, but she couldn't help but feel irate about the entire situation.

Boots crunched loudly over the gravel behind her and she cringed; she would recognize that heavy-footed gait anywhere. He always walked as if he owned the universe, as if nothing within it could avoid his sway if he simply applied enough pressure. She must not have been part of his universe tonight.

Though she had heard him coming, she hadn't expected him to catch her around the waist and pull her back against him, his arm pressing against her with relentless, but easy weight. "Hey," he murmured into her ear, his voice pitched low in his patented sexy growl. "I'm sorry."

Biting her lower lip and trying not to follow her instinct and elbow him sharply in the gut, she grasped his wrist and twisted out of his grip. "For what?" she asked with her best imitation of nonchalance.

His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it. He closed it again with a strangely vulnerable expression. From what she could tell, he seemed to be uncertain of why she was angry, but simply knew that she was and that it was his fault. But she didn't want an apology unless he understood it. She refused to give him a hint.

Finally, he began quietly, "Vergil—"

Cutting him off sharply, she shook her head with a grimace. "No. We are not talking about him right now."

When his eyes looked at her again, they were filled with frustration and regret, and she nearly changed her mind, but she was still too angry to give in. Running a hand through his messy hair, he said helplessly, "I was worried about you."

"Really?" she asked in a deadpan tone. She had to admit that she actually hadn't been so sure after the way he had ignored her, but that really wasn't what was bothering her the most anyway. She felt jilted by Vergil that he had stolen away all of Dante's attention when she had been the one aching for him. Vergil had never been kind to Dante, and yet Dante had had eyes for no one but his brother from the moment he came through the gate. And Vergil…well, he didn't deserve it.

"Yeah. Really." Dante shook his head slightly with an expression of utter confusion. "Did I miss something?"

Trish cocked her head at him. "You mean, other than me?"

Throwing his hands up in frustration, anger burned in his eyes as he growled, "Okay. I screwed up. I'm sorry. I saw you were there and safe, and I didn't say 'hi' right away because I was a little distracted by the fact that the brother who I killed with my own hands years ago was standing right beside you."

"It shouldn't have been such a shock. Karasuma said you had reason to suspect he was alive before the you even opened the gate."

Dante was nearly shaking with anger. "Why are we arguing about this? I hate him. You know that already. It's just…I kind of lose my mind when he's around. There's a lot of…shitty history there."

Trish felt the smallest bit of remorse for pushing him about this when she knew his history with Vergil was bitter and painful in its own way. "I know," she said with reluctance.

Smiling bitterly, he filled in the gaps between what she was saying and what she was thinking. "But that's not enough, is it?"

"Listen, Dante," she said with a sigh. "I'm only a few steps out of the demon world right now. Give me some time to decompress, okay?"

"And how much time will you need before my apology will be good enough?"

Trish's anger blazed a little brighter and she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's just—" Cutting himself off as if he realized that he was heading nowhere, Dante shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just frustrated, that's all."

"That's too bad." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He didn't reply right away, looking at her with a confounded expression etched with worry; he must have heard the gravity underlying her tone. "Trish," he began cautiously, but she shook her head before he could go any further, a wave of panic rising within her. She was not ready to talk about what was truly bothering her yet.

"No, Dante. I just don't have the patience to talk to you right now."

He took a step toward her, his expression darkening. "Why do I feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

"Because you're paranoid and self-involved and think it has something to do with you." Trish felt something within her snap, some small thread of self-control that had been holding her together for the last several days and keeping her sane. A flood of emotion welled up inside her and bubbled out through her lips, and she heard herself talking without knowing what she was going to say until she said it. Her voice slightly hysterical, she nearly shouted at him, "Well it doesn't. It has nothing to do with you. Though this might be a revelation, the world doesn't revolve around you, Dante. The planets wouldn't fall out of alignment if you weren't around and I won't fall apart without you either. So just let it go."

The urge to cry was nearly undeniable, but somehow she managed to keep the tears from escaping her eyes. Glaring at him through blurred vision, she could see just enough of his wounded expression to make her desire to sob uncontrollably that much stronger. The worst part was that it wasn't true; she did need him. She thought she just might fall apart without him. But it was too late. The words had been said and she couldn't take them back right now.

So she stumbled away, fleeing the hurt in his eyes until she could find a way to face it directly and tell him the truth.

**Author's Note: **

**I hope you liked it. Let me know if you have any questions or if anything seemed confusing. I'm really enjoying what an ass Vergil is turning out to be, but its sad that none of our couples are doing too well at the moment. Still, they're all in the same place again now so they can work these things out. Right? I will do my best to make it so, but until then I can promise lots of delicious tension. ;)  
**


	9. Comparing Notes

**Author's Note: **

**It's everyone's favorite time! Crazy dream time! That's right. It's time for another installment of insane dreams--something we haven't seen for quite some time. Unfortunately, no real smut dreams this time, though we have our share of geek dreams and celebrity appearances. A little strange as far as timing goes, perhaps, but fun nonetheless. I will recommend that you check out part of the Flight of the Conchords Bowie episode before reading Dante's dream--it helps you to picture it. Yeah, I pretty much ripped the idea off of that show…but I couldn't help myself.**

**Also, I hope you will feel a little less concerned about our woefully frustrated couples after this chapter—there's hope at least!**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Comparing Notes**

While Amon was so exhausted that he knew he should have passed out the moment he sat down in the pleasantly soft seat, sleep stubbornly refused him. He drifted off occasionally, always catching himself a moment before he fell asleep and startling himself awake; it must have been a reflex born from all the days of anxious travel across the underworld. Though he knew he was safe he couldn't seem to relax.

And it didn't help that his gaze kept drifting across the aisle to the girl sitting a few rows ahead of him. She had fallen asleep long ago, her knees drawn up to her chest as she curled up in the seat like a child, loose ginger hair caressing her face as it swayed with the motion of the bus.

Amon looked away sharply, staring down at the lights of the distant city as the bus careened around another hairpin curve. This was too cruel. He had struggled and fought his way through hell to get back to her, sacrificing perhaps more than he would ever be able to recover along the way. He had at last made peace with his feelings for her, had accepted that they were not going to go away and that he had been a fool to deny them. And now…

Shaking the thought away, Amon shifted in his seat, looking across the aisle at Dante's slouched form, his eyes also restlessly staring out the dark window as he fiddled with a bottle cap, flipping it over his fingers again and again. The bottle that belonged with the cap was empty and long forgotten, nestled in the cup holder of the seat next to him. Even with the connection between them Amon had trouble making sense of the devil hunter's emotions; one thing he could determine from them though was that he was having similar feelings of unexpected disappointment about the reunion.

Trish was sitting near the front of the bus next to Karasuma—to all appearances giggling and having a good time. But her laughter was a little too loud, her voice a little too bright and cheerful. Dante tensed every time she giggled, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he sent the bottle cap turning between his fingers more quickly. Though Amon didn't know what exactly had transpired between them, he strongly suspected it had something to do with Vergil.

In fact, Vergil seemed to be the only one taking advantage of the bus ride for some much needed rest. The aloof half demon had taken a seat at the back of the bus and immediately closed his eyes. Though Amon had hardly been paying attention to him, he appeared to have not moved since the moment he sat down, his flawlessly chiseled features so still that he looked more like a marble statue than a living being.

Amon's eyes drifted back to Robin despite his best attempts to fight the temptation. She shivered in her sleep and he clenched the arm of the seat to keep himself from getting up and covering her slight form with his coat. Closing his eyes and trying to slow his racing heart, Amon reminded himself of the situation once again. She didn't remember anything. She didn't remember how she had slowly whittled through his defenses in order to finally and utterly claim his heart. And she might never remember. He had a decision to make.

He felt someone watching him. Opening his eyes, he found Dante looking at him with a knowing expression on his face. Amon scowled and looked away, anger burning inside him at the fact that Dante and Karasuma had chosen not to fill all the gaps in Robin's memory. But even as it angered him, he appreciated their decision in equal measure; Dante was actually respecting a request Amon had made of him days ago; he had wanted Dante to help him discourage Robin, and it wasn't as if he had ever rescinded the request.

Beside that fact, Amon wasn't entirely sure that they hadn't made the right decision in the first place. Robin was still young, and all of the factors in the situation that had held Amon back before were still present. He had been given a second chance to hold himself back and control his wanton desires before he took advantage of her. Once the shock wore off and he recovered from the time he had spent in the demon world he knew he would be able to push his desires aside and make a more objective decision.

A bottle cap hit Amon's cheek and he flinched.

"Hey," Dante grunted softly. "Do you think you could obsess a little more quietly? Your tortured emotions are getting on my nerves."

Amon glared at him without turning his head, but didn't respond.

Raising an eyebrow and nodding his head toward Robin, Dante said, "You keep staring at her like that and she's going to burst into flame. And then where will you be?"

"No worse off than you are at the moment it would seem." The comment slipped out of his mouth before he realized he was stooping to Dante's level.

Dante's expression soured. "Trish is trying to prove a point. That's all."

Narrowing his eyes, Amon said sharply, "You're being selfish."

"Excuse me?"

Amon welcomed Dante's sharp-edged spark of anger as it helped to cover up the hunger that had been threatening to drown him. "She has been through a lot--sacrificed more for me than I have ever given her reason to do. She defended you to your brother despite his relentless mocking and put up with him for days just to get back to you. And now she's sitting up there putting on a happy face while you're feeling sorry for yourself."

His anger burning steadily through their connection, Dante leaned forward in his seat, murder in his eyes. "Tell me. How's the view up there on your high horse?"

"She deserves better," Amon retorted to emphasize his point, though part of him was a little surprised by how strongly he was defending Trish. Somehow he didn't think that he was doing it only to provoke Dante and release some of his frustration either; he felt indebted to her on some level and this was his small way of paying her back.

"Probably," Dante replied, his gaze refocusing on the floor between them as his expression became wistful. "But she doesn't want me around right now. She's already made that more than clear."

"I think something happened between her and Vergil." Amon had said the words before he had a chance to consider them, and he instantly regretted revealing this fact so bluntly when he felt Dante's anger explode beside him.

"What?" The whispered word was razor sharp.

Glancing toward the still unmoving Vergil, Amon continued softly, "I don't know anything more than that. I was only conscious half the time we were in the underworld. Anything could have happened during one of my black outs. She never said anything about it, but that doesn't change the fact that something clearly happened."

Dante considered this silently. "Did he hurt her?" Amon actually turned to look at him when he heard the vulnerability in Dante's voice.

"I don't know."

"Dammit." Slouching back in his seat, Dante stared up at the ceiling with a miserable expression. Amon felt strangely guilty for using what little he knew about Trish's feelings toward Vergil to provoke Dante; it honestly wasn't any of his business.

His attention drifting back to Robin before he could stop himself, Amon became hypnotized by the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her eyelashes fluttering delicately against her cheeks as she slept.

"She still loves you," Dante said so softly that Amon thought for a moment that he had imagined him speaking. "She tries not to give it away, but I can see it in her eyes when she says your name." Smiling in a self-disparaging way, Dante added, "And the reason I didn't tell her everything that had happened was because I thought it would make it harder on her if we couldn't bring you back."

Amon considered him mutely, uncertain of Dante's intentions and fearful that whatever he had to say would give him the last excuse he needed to ignore his better judgment.

Smirking despite the pain Amon could feel behind the expression, Dante said, "So stop being a martyr. She's right over there. Take what you want. She wouldn't push you away."

"You know I can't do that." Amon shook his head, trembling with the effort of denying the impulse to act on Dante's suggestion.

"Why not? What's holding you back?"

Pointedly shifting his gaze back to the window, Amon said coldly, "She's shivering in her sleep. Would you cover her up with your coat?"

"Are you serious?" Dante murmured in astonishment.

"Please," Amon pleaded faintly.

Without another intelligible word--though he was muttering under his breath--Dante did as Amon had asked. Amon kept his eyes on the window, but he could see Dante's back in the reflection as he shrugged out of his red jacket and tucked it gently around Robin's shoulders. She stirred drowsily, green eyes blinking up at him in surprise. Ruffling her hair, Dante turned away with a small smile, his gaze darkening as he looked at Amon again.

Amon listened to the sound of Dante dropping back into his seat with a sigh and closed his eyes. He fell almost immediately into a dreamless sleep.

--------

The room was cramped and less than ideal, but he supposed that they should have been happy to have a place to stay at all. The hotel staff had been reluctant to even let them through the doors when they showed up at such a late hour, but they had finally consented after a little persuasion and a rather substantial amount of cash.

Unfortunately, there had only been two rooms available, and no amount of bribing could change that number. The females in the group had quickly snatched up the larger room, Trish's expression unnaturally gloating as she snatched the key from the front counter. The second room had two full size beds and a narrow couch. Amon had promptly passed out on the couch in his clothes while the young man who had introduced himself as Michael claimed one of the beds.

Vergil didn't know how one human could manage to occupy an entire bed so utterly, but the boy was thoroughly sprawled across the mattress and snoring loudly enough to make the bed frame rattle. Narrowing his eyes, Vergil concentrated on polishing his sword, feeling slightly revived now that he had washed off the grime of the underworld and reluctant regardless to fall asleep before his brother.

The sound of the shower fell abruptly silent and Vergil had to consciously force himself to relax. His muscles were still taut as a bowstring when he heard a quiet knock. Glancing at the unconscious occupants in the room before frowning at the closed bathroom door, Vergil set his katana aside and approached the door, straightening the black t-shirt he had reluctantly borrowed from Dante.

Vergil raised a brow at the small, startled girl standing in the hallway and clutching a large bundle of cloth to her chest. She blinked at him for a moment, opening her mouth and then closing it again slowly as if she had thought better of speaking.

"What is it?" he demanded impatiently.

Her brows furrowing, her gaze became more determined and the uncertainty in her posture disappeared, replaced by something akin to fear. He remembered suddenly that he had not pushed his hair back into its usual style after his shower and she must have thought at first that he was his brother. The thought pleased him. "I came to return this to Dante," she said quietly in an unassuming voice.

Looking down at the bundle as she offered it up to him, he recognized it finally as Dante's ridiculously red coat. How had she ended up with it? Taking it silently, he inclined his head at her in a gesture of dismissal.

She either failed to recognize the purpose of his gesture or foolishly chose to ignore it because she hesitated, looking up at him curiously.

"Is there something else?" he snapped, wondering what it was about this malnourished slip of a girl that so intrigued Lucifer. Whatever Lucifer's plans for her were, they were truly none of Vergil's concern anyway; Lucifer had flatly ordered him to leave her alone.

The bathroom door opened and her eyes immediately shifted to Dante as he emerged from the steamy room shirtless. Busily drying his hair with a towel, Dante did not notice her attention until she said his name faintly. Watching his brother's half-asleep, grumpy expression transform into alert attentiveness at the sound of her voice stunned Vergil into silence; he had never seen Dante react so quickly to something so insignificant before.

"Robin," he said, blinking at her from beneath the shadow of the towel and a fringe of damp hair. "Is something wrong?" His eyes focused briefly on Vergil with cold intensity as if he suspected him of molesting her.

Shaking her head quickly, she replied, "I just came to return your coat."

"Oh." Even Vergil had to admit that Dante's expression was charmingly dumbfounded.

Robin's eyes looked between the two of them, focusing on something deeper inside the room. It took Vergil a moment to realize her longing expression was for the unconscious man on the couch. How odd. Unless Vergil was judging inaccurately, Amon must have been nearly twice her age, and yet she was gazing at him as if he were a lover.

Tossing his towel back into the bathroom, Dante asked with a serious expression, "Do you want me to walk you back to your room, babe?"

Raising her hands disarmingly, she replied with a sweet smile, "No. That's okay. Good night." She glanced at Vergil with that strangely inquisitive expression once more before turning to go.

Watching her disappear around the corner wonderingly, Vergil felt Dante's eyes on him and slowly turned to face his brother as he closed the door. Dante's glare seemed strangely fierce and completely uncalled for, so Vergil chose to ignore it, his attention occupied instead by the drop of water that fell from a tendril of silver hair to the curve of a cheekbone before tracing a path slowly down to Dante's chin. It fell to the carpet and Vergil's eyes followed it.

"I swear," Dante said with frost clinging to his words, his lips curled maliciously as he shoved Vergil back against the wall behind him. "You touch her and I'll make you regret being born."

Blinking at him in surprise, Vergil studied his furious expression with amusement; Dante's overreaction was not only unnecessary but also absurd. "I assure you I wasn't even tempted."

"Whatever games you're plotting, leave her out of them. She's off limits."

Dante released him abruptly, but Vergil could still feel the burn of his fingertips where they had been pressing against his chest. While Vergil was usually more than adept at seeing through to the heart of Dante's actions, his over reactive protectiveness of this scrawny girl was inscrutable to him. Without moving from the place Dante had left him, Vergil watched his brother's back pensively and tried to imagine how such an insignificant human could have so thoroughly wrapped Dante around her delicate little finger.

As he watched, another droplet of water fell from Dante's hair and landed on the nape of his neck. Vergil's fingers twitched as he watched it slide between the curve of his shoulder blades, meandering along Dante's spine until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his drawstring pants. Dante crawled under the sheets and Vergil looked away sharply, listening to the bed creak under him and trying desperately not to think.

Vergil's hand flew up to catch the pillow reflexively a moment before it hit his face.

"Be grateful there's carpeting," Dante said, obviously implying that Vergil was to find a place to sleep on the floor.

Darkness fell as Dante flipped off the light, and for a second Vergil still didn't move, listening to the squeak of the bed as his brother tried to get comfortable, the sound nearly drowned out by the obnoxious snores from the other bed.

A faint smile curved his lips as he looked down at the coat still cradled in his arms, barely visible in the dim room. Unfurling it gently, Vergil seated himself at the foot of Dante's bed, leaning his head back against the mattress and pulling the well-worn coat over him like a blanket. The coat smelled of leather and sweat and that fiery something else that was Dante's own distinct scent. Closing his eyes, Vergil drank in the aroma along with the inevitable ache that accompanied it and drifted slowly off to sleep.

--------

_"Dante," a sensual voice with a British accent cooed gently. "Dante."_

_His eyes opened with a start and he blinked blearily at the ridiculously dressed man seated on the edge of Michael's bed. Squinting at the man with outrageously spiked hair wearing a white leotard and a substantial codpiece, Dante murmured, "You're…"_

_"1986 David Bowie from the movie Labyrinth," the man said simply._

_"David Bowie," Dante echoed._

_"Yes. This is a freaky dream," he said in a singsong tone. "Am I freaking you out, Dante?"_

_Dante shrugged. "Not really."_

_"That's too bad."_

_"So, what are you doing here?"_

_David Bowie floated leisurely across the room, the ruffled cuffs of his shirt catching in an unfelt wind. "I'm here to help you out, Dante."_

_Pushing himself up on his elbows, Dante asked, "Help me out? With what?"_

_Pointing down at Vergil's sleeping form below him, David Bowie said confidentially, "With your freaky brother, of course."_

_"Good luck then," Dante said with a smile._

_"Why thank you. It is a bit of a challenge, isn't it?"_

_Considering the rock star curiously, Dante asked, "Any suggestions?"_

_Very seriously, David Bowie replied, "It never hurts to occasionally do something truly outrageous."_

_"Like what?"_

_"What bothers your brother more than anything else?"_

_Dante thought about this for a moment, but was at a loss for an answer; Vergil seemed to be bothered by nearly everything._

_David Bowie pointed at him significantly. "The answer is you, of course. Use that to your advantage."_

_"I don't follow you."_

_Sighing dramatically, David Bowie leaned over Vergil and lifted a corner of the blanket covering him. It took Dante a moment to notice that it wasn't actually a blanket at all, but his own leather coat and that David Bowie was holding one of the sleeves up for his inspection. Vergil was clutching the coat to himself, his face buried in the worn leather of the collar. "You're his weakness, you see?"_

_"He's probably cold," Dante replied evenly. "And that coat __**is**__ extremely comfortable."_

_Throwing his hands up, David Bowie cried, "You're making things difficult for me here, Dante. And here I am going out of my way to help you."_

_"Sorry."_

_Perching lightly on the edge of the table across from the bed, David Bowie crossed his legs and rubbed his hand lightly over his chin. "What I'm trying to say is that sometimes hatred is a convenient cover for something else. And it never hurts to try a little tenderness."_

_"Okay, now you _are_ freaking me out."_

_"Your deceptively devilish brother and his coldly calculating manner are merely a ruse," David Bowie said in that half-singing lilt. "You can melt him with a word."_

_Raising an eyebrow at him, Dante said cautiously, "I'm not sure I'm okay with where this is going. I'm not gay."_

_Growling in frustration, David Bowie shook his head and floated across the room again. "I'm talking about brotherly love here, man. Stop reading things into it."_

_"Oh."_

_"I have to go now, Dante. I'm afraid that's all the advice I can give you." _

"_What about Trish? How do I get her to forgive me?"_

_David Bowie shrugged. "Sorry man. That's a pickle. You're on your own there." He turned toward the window, but paused and looked back, adding, "That is a pretty funky red jacket, by the way. A funky, funky jacket." With that one last lilting phrase, he disappeared in a flash of light._

Dante sat up in bed, sweat-dampened sheets twisted cloyingly around his body. His eyes immediately settled on the silver-haired head resting against the foot of the bed, a glimpse of red tucked against his cheek. Silently maneuvering himself to the end of the bed, he looked over the edge and his eyes widened when he saw that Vergil was, in fact, curled up beneath his red coat.

"What a freaky dream," he murmured, though it wasn't really the dream that was bothering him.

--------

_Michael was nothing more than an outside observer, watching the action without being truly involved in it; this was a familiar sensation for him and something that happened quite often in his dreams--as in his waking life._

_Dracula was sitting outside a café, his deathly pale skin shaded by the green and white umbrella opened over the table. He looked up at the pale haired man who paused next to his table and considered him with a pensive expression._

_"You're Dracula?" Vergil inquired blandly, taking the seat across from him when Dracula nodded. _

_They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, measuring each other with weighty stares. At last the waiter arrived, placing a delectable strawberry sundae before each of them. _

_Vergil raised an eyebrow at the dessert but made no move to touch it. Dracula on the other hand had already plucked the spoon from the table and fished a strawberry out of a dollop of whipped cream. He proceeded to pop it into his mouth, cream clinging to his well-groomed black moustache. Looking at Vergil in surprise, he asked through a mouthful of fruit, "I thought you liked strawberry sundaes." Juice trailed down the vampire's chin in an eerie imitation of blood._

_"You must have confused me with my brother," Vergil said coldly, pushing the sundae away with distaste._

_"I see." Unperturbed, Dracula swirled his spoon around the edges of the parfait glass, scooping up the soft ice cream with an eager expression._

_Glancing across the street vaguely, Vergil asked with a hint of impatience, "Why have you summoned me here?" _

_"I have need of your talents. There is a man I must have eliminated." Dracula's imposing tone might have been more impressive if he hadn't paused to lick his spoon in the middle of his statement._

_"Who is this man?"_

_Dracula slid a piece of paper across the table. On it was written seven letters: D-R-A-C-U-L-A. Vergil looked up at him wearily with the realization that he had just wasted a considerable amount of precious time. "This is your name."_

_Slapping a palm to his head and groaning as if he had eaten his ice cream too quickly, Dracula replied, "Ah, right. Strike that. Reverse it."_

_"Sorry?"_

_"The name. Reverse the letters."_

_"Alu…card?"_

_Nodding as he scooped up another bite of ice cream, Dracula said, "That's the one."_

_"Where can I find him?"_

_"Right over there," Dracula gestured to the Starbucks across the street and the effeminate man seated there sipping espresso._

_Vergil shrugged. "That was easy." Vergil was halfway across the street when he hesitated, watching the unsavory creature approaching Alucard with a wary eye. Pausing in the shadow of a canopy, Vergil watched the greasy man announce secretively, "Welcome. I've got some rare items on sale, stranger." _

_Brushing an elegant lock of blond hair away from his porcelain face, Alucard looked up at the man as he swung open his coat to display an array of goods attached to its interior. "I am interested in this," he said in a shockingly deep voice, pointing to a pair of platform shoes. _

_"Heh heh heh, thank you!" the shady character cried as he gave the boots to Alucard after snatching up the man's money and slipped away down the street. _

_Vergil approached the man boldly when the peddler was gone. "You are Alucard?" he demanded, his katana at the ready. _

_Blinking up at him, Alucard sighed wearily. Glancing across the street at Dracula who gave him a coy wave, he threw his napkin on the table. He looked up at Vergil with a chilling gaze, rising to his feet and glaring up at his adversary who was several inches taller than him. "You would do his bidding? He steals men's souls and makes them his slaves. Mankind ill needs a savior such as him."_

_The sound of a parfait glass smashing against the concrete startled them both and they looked over to see Dracula leering at them with a haughty expression. In his rage, he had somehow managed to take on the horrifying aspect of Willem Dafoe. "What is a man?" he hissed. "A miserable little pile of secrets."_

_At that moment a chainsaw revved and a man in overalls cut Dracula's head clean off, beady eyes gleaming madly through the holes cut into the burlap bag over the man's head. Vergil and Alucard leapt back a step in mingled horror and disgust, too shocked to react as the chainsaw wielding man approached them menacingly. Two bullets ripped through the crazed man and he fell mutely to the ground, his chainsaw clattering down beside him. _

_"Bingo." Dante smirked from across the street and blew imaginary smoke from the end of his massive gun. He exchanged a glance with the man on the other side of the street who was still holding his gun in a battle ready stance. "That was my kill, Mr. Kennedy."_

_"Don't think so, blondie," the man snapped in a similar arrogant tone. "You're small time. I've been killing these scabrous wretches for years. I know their weak point like the back of my hand."_

_"Yeah? You looked pretty terrified a minute ago when he almost decapitated your little girlfriend."_

_"She's not my--"_

_"Leon!" a girl in a plaid skirt squealed in an incredibly nasal voice, leaping out of her hiding place and skipping over to the other man. "That was scary. I could have died!"_

_"What an incredible loss that would have been," Vergil mocked, already turned off by her grating voice. _

_At that moment, the waiter who had been serving Dracula's table arrived with an enormous pizza. Looking around in surprise at the strange men and the two bodies in the street, he dropped the pizza on the table and fled back into the café. Shrugging, Dante snatched up a piece of pizza. _

_The harrowing sound of another chainsaw in the distance made them all pause. Ashley screamed bloody murder, throwing her arms around Leon's neck and clinging to him. Leon rolled his eyes. _

_"That is it!" an imposing man at the café growled, throwing his newspaper down on the table. "I've had it with all the chainsaw wielding mother fuckers in the mother fuckin' street." At this, Samuel L. Jackson stomped off down the street in the direction of the sound, trembling with rage._

Michael snorted in his sleep and rolled over in bed. He was so tired that not even a freaky dream could drag him back to consciousness.

--------

"_Amon?" The hot, stifling air seemed to swallow the sound of her voice as she called his name into the dimly lit cavern. Flames crackled in the darkness, spitting sparks through the fissures in the ground and walls, and Robin carefully evaded them, clenching her heavy skirts as she traversed the nightmarish landscape. "Amon!" she called again. She needed him, though she wasn't sure why. She was also uncertain of where she was or why she thought she could find him there in the first place, but she had been searching for what felt like days._

"_Hey there, angel," a smooth male voice said from behind her and she spun around to see an older man with short, wavy brown hair grinning at her lewdly as he leaned back against a sleek black sports car. He was wearing a wifebeater under an unbuttoned denim shirt, and his thumbs were tucked into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. Though she didn't recall ever meeting him before, he did seem oddly familiar. "Want to go for a ride?"_

_It wasn't until he winked at her and gestured toward the car that she recognized him as Maurita's childhood crush. Maurita was one of the nuns at the convent where Robin had grown up. She had been nothing if not devout in her faith and Robin had always admired her dedication to her life's calling, but Maurita's one weakness had been her crush on this American actor. Maurita had often involved Robin in the clandestine moments between chores and evening mass she used to watch recorded episodes of his television show. Robin had never felt that this "David Hasselhoff" was all that attractive, but the opportunity to do something so out of the ordinary—and vaguely deviant-- in the midst of their simple lives had been enough to make the time worthwhile._

_Shaking her head quickly, Robin replied, "No, thank you. I'm looking for someone."_

"_Hey, maybe I could help you find him more quickly. Come on, jump in my car. I'll show you around."_

_Robin watched him uncertainly. "You know this place?" She had met many strange characters in her journey, but none of them had been especially helpful._

"_Sure! We're in hell, aren't we?" He winked again at her with a stilted grin. "I know it like the rugged contours of my face." He traced his fingertips over his jaw, wiggling his eyebrows. _

_Sighing, Robin glanced at the dismal landscape around her and decided she might not mind the company so much. "Okay."_

"_That's more like it." He turned toward his car, but paused halfway, glancing back at her conspiratorially with a hand on his denim shirt. "Though it is getting pretty hot in here. I might have to make the switch to my beach wear." He tugged on the shirt and a moment later he was wearing nothing but a pair of red swimming trunks and an unzipped windbreaker. Placing a pair of sunglasses neatly on his nose, he said, "Come on. Let's find this Amon fella of yours."_

_Following him reluctantly, Robin slid into the seat of the rather futuristic car next to him. "Do you know where we can find him?"_

_Pursing his lips, Hasselhoff replied with a shake of his head. "Not a clue. But I'm sure we'll come across him eventually." Patting the dashboard, he added, "Kit, let's get this show on the road."_

_The car leapt into action and Robin gripped the door handle as they flew through the dim, crimson landscape at the speed of light. The glow of flames streaked past the windows as the car flew through the darkness and Robin squeezed her eyes shut to block the nauseating sight from view. A few seconds later Hasselhoff slammed on the breaks and Robin was being choked by her seat belt as the car crunched to a sudden and complete stop._

"_Ah man, come on!" Hasselhoff groaned, slapping the steering wheel. Robin opened her eyes slowly, registering the fact that they were stopped at an intersection waiting for a light to change. Glancing at her with an exaggerated frown, he complained, "The traffic lights in hell are always red."_

_Her hand already on the door, Robin said, "Thank you for the ride, but I believe I will continue on foot."_

_The terrain was more difficult than it had been before and she had to leap across chasms of lava and flame in order to keep moving. Robin persevered, paying no attention to the rock that crumbled beneath her feet or the flames that licked at her heels, but the path became narrower as she walked and soon she found that she had reached a dead end. A rickety bridge spanned a wide abyss, but an enormous boulder blocked the way. _

_Feeling defeated, Robin rested her forehead against the rock and sobbed noiselessly. _

"_Don't cry, child," a voice near her said comfortingly._

_She looked up to see the itako from Osorezan sitting near the bridge, smiling pleasantly. Surely this woman could help her. "I'm looking for Amon," she said fervently. "Do you know where he is?"_

"_I'm afraid you just missed him," the woman sad sadly. "He's no longer here."_

_Shaking her head slowly, Robin murmured, "But I was sure…"_

"_Keep looking, child. You will find him again."_

Robin's eyes snapped open, greeted by the still darkness of the room. Karasuma was breathing deeply beside her, sleeping soundly and prompting a hint of jealousy in Robin. She rolled onto her side, realizing that she had probably doomed herself to a restless night after sleeping during so much of the bus ride. Still, that dream had been decidedly odd. Amon was no longer in the demon world, so why was she dreaming about searching for him there?

Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness of the room as she blinked thoughtfully at the bank of windows on the wall opposite the two beds, but it wasn't until she heard a soft sigh that she noticed Trish's silhouette on one of the chairs. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, glowing faintly in the city lights as she peered down at the street below.

Careful not to disturb Karasuma, Robin crawled out of bed, shivering when her feet touched the cool carpeting, and walked across the room to the couch. Trish looked away from the window when she heard Robin approach and the exhaustion in her eyes was evident even in the dark.

"Is something wrong?" she whispered, turning in her chair.

Robin shrugged. "Can't sleep."

Trish nodded, rubbing her hands against each other self-consciously. "I thought I would be able to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow…but I guess I just have too much on my mind."

"I know what you mean."

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that, and Robin wondered if she should have stayed in bed as she realized that she barely knew Trish and couldn't think of a single thing to talk about.

Finally, Trish asked, "Robin? What do you think of Amon?"

Blinking dumbly at her for a moment, Robin felt panic rush through her. She felt as if a spotlight had just turned on above her head and the eyes of a vast audience were upon her even though it was only Trish and they were sitting in the dark. She had absolutely no idea what to say. "I…" she started haltingly, hoping for some kind of diversion to save her from the awkward moment.

"I'm sorry," Trish apologized to Robin's relief. "That wasn't a very fair question. But I think you answered it anyway."

"I…did?"

Trish shifted her attention back to the window and the blurred halos of light beyond the gauzy curtains. "You love him, don't you?"

Robin felt as if her heart was in her throat and she could barely find enough breath to speak. "I don't understand. Why would you—"

As if she hadn't said a word, Trish continued, "He's not such a bad guy, really. I thought he was such an ass when I first met him, but I suppose I might have misjudged him." Looking back at Robin, she added with a smile, "And I guess you can't help whom you love."

Her mind working very fast but not processing well at all, Robin tried to piece together Trish's statement into something that made sense. "Do you…love Amon?" she asked in complete confusion.

A laugh nearly escaped Trish's lips, but she caught it with a hand over her mouth and a worried look in Karasuma's direction. "I'm sorry. No, I am not in love with Amon. Poor thing. You just woke up and here I am talking about things like this." Then, sobering, she looked at Karasuma again thoughtfully before leaning toward Robin. "When they told you about all the things you had forgotten…did you feel as if there was something missing?"

Robin's eyes widened. "Yes," she replied candidly, her heart racing in her chest.

"I think you should ask Amon about it."

"Amon?" Robin's voice was barely more than a squeak. How could she possibly ask Amon about something like that?

"Yes. He needs to be the one to tell you."

"Why would the others keep something from me?"

Trish smiled faintly. "Because they are overprotective of you. They seem to think you aren't capable of making a decision on your own."

Robin considered this quietly for a moment. "But you think I am?"

Shrugging, Trish replied, "I don't think it's our place to interfere." Robin noticed her sadness for the first time as she looked away, her profile silhouetted against the window.

Feeling rather melancholy herself, Robin found herself staring at her hands in her lap. "I just wish I could remember."

Trish chuckled dryly. "And I wish I could forget."

"Was the demon world that terrible?" Robin asked cautiously, afraid of treading on the raw emotions she could see shadowing Trish's features.

"Yes and no." Meeting Robin's eyes, she added with absolute seriousness, "Stay away from Vergil whatever you do."

Startled by Trish's statement, Robin felt vaguely guilty for her fervent curiosity about Dante's brother. "He seems very different from Dante."

Trish smiled. "As different as night and day."

"I was worried when the itako warned us about him." Robin hesitated, wondering if she was saying too much, but Trish's eyes were regarding her intently so she continued. "I tried to talk Dante out of opening the gate. I was afraid that it was a trap."

"And?"

"He said he had to try anyway, even if it was a trap. I don't have any memories to compare it to, but Karasuma thought that he was acting overly reckless. She said that he must have been really worried about you."

Trish's expression was difficult to read in the darkness, but Robin sensed that she had said something the other woman needed to hear. Sighing, Trish murmured, "Maybe. But as long as his brother's around, nothing else will be able to hold his attention for long. Except for maybe you."

Robin blinked at her in surprise. "Me?"

"Yeah. He really has a major soft spot for you," Trish replied affectionately.

"Why?" Robin asked, needing to know the answer. "I don't remember how we met and I have no idea why he would care so much about me."

Trish cocked her head thoughtfully. "I think…he sees you as a little sister." Her expression became wistful as she added, "And he is fiercely protective of family."

"Maybe I shouldn't ask," Robin said tentatively, avoiding Trish's eyes, "but can you tell me what happened between him and Vergil? He seemed to think that he had killed his brother a long time ago and I could feel his grief over that fact, but he wouldn't explain and I was afraid to ask."

Reluctance crossed Trish's features and she absently fiddled with the fringe on the arm of the chair. "As I understand it, Vergil and Dante have been competitive since birth. On some level I imagine they both care for each other deeply, but those feeling are buried beneath a mountain of jealousy and hatred. While Dante is probably just as much to blame for the rivalry as Vergil, I think that he is more sentimental about their relationship."

Robin nodded eagerly, sitting up straighter on the couch and hoping Trish would keep going.

Smiling faintly at Robin's expression, Trish continued, "As you know, they are both half demons, born of a demon father and a human mother. Because of their heritage they were both outsiders from birth, and in a way they could only depend on each other because their demon blood made them so different. No one else could fully understand them. But they both had their own ideas about which of their halves was most important. Dante was intrigued by humanity and leaned toward his human side while Vergil hungered for the power of his demon half."

"At one point they parted ways, each pursuing the part of themselves that they saw as most important." Trish took a deep breath. Telling the story seemed to be strangely cathartic for her and Robin was glad that she had asked the question after all. "Many years later, they ran into each other again. I…had been working for a powerful demon at the time, and Vergil was one of that demon's premier soldiers. His master had corrupted him though…he was barely more than a soulless weapon. Dante was on a mission to defeat the demon I was working for. That was when I first met him." She hesitated as if she were glossing over an important point, but Robin decided not to interrupt. "Eventually, Dante had to defeat Vergil in order to get to our master, but I don't think he fully recognized his brother until it was too late."

"He killed him without knowing who he was?" Robin asked sadly.

"He thought he had killed him, yes. I don't know what really happened now. And Vergil doesn't seem to remember anything about it."

"That seems strange." Robin gazed thoughtfully toward the window. "I wonder why he doesn't remember."

Trish shivered, hugging her arms to herself. "Who knows? You can't take anything he says at face value though…just because he says he can't remember doesn't mean he has no idea why."

Robin considered this silently, thinking of the distant, brooding look she had seen in Vergil's eyes when he looked at Dante. Though she knew Dante was every bit as dangerous as his brother, something about Vergil frightened her deeply while she had never felt truly afraid of Dante, not even when he was angry. Still, there was something intriguing about Vergil, and even though everyone had warned her against getting close to him, she couldn't help wanting to figure him out.

--------

_His body was not his own. It moved with liquid speed, swinging the zanbatou powerfully through the air, tendrils of blue fire flaring around the blade as he swung blow after blow at the smaller man beneath him. With a growl of bitter laughter, the man leapt into the air with surprising strength, dodging his massive blade and plummeting back toward him with brutal force. Stunned momentarily as the man's lightning imbued sword cut at him, nicking his dark armor and sending cracks spidering across its surface in more than one place, he focused on the man's burning blue eyes. _

_Recognition struck him and he stumbled backward, accepting the pain offered by this suddenly familiar man before him. He knew that face—knew the emotions in those agonizingly familiar eyes. He knew the sweat-dampened hair clinging to flushed skin like a drift of snow, knew the power in the crimson aura rising from the man's skin._

_The sword plunged into him and the memory slipped away abruptly, leaving him frustrated. Roaring in a voice not his own, he phased across the room, watching the man he knew and yet did not know as he spun around to find him. Silvery blades sculpted of pure energy materialized around the man in a ring, rotating menacingly as they drew ever closer. Watching them with darting movements of his sharp blue eyes, the man leapt out of the way as they crashed toward him, not even looking as they smashed themselves to pieces on the chamber's expensive marble floor._

_He didn't feel disappointment at the man's evasion. He didn't feel anything. He was colder than ice—his mind vacant and detached as he approached the hunter silently. They continued to fight across the vaulted chamber, lightning illuminating their steps as they struggled, his strength bleeding away with every step. It was if he wanted to lose. But that wasn't right. He didn't want anything. He was free of emotion—of desires. Wasn't he?_

_A burst of light glinted on something hanging around the man's neck, a glimpse of ruby redder than the man's blood as it spilled on the ground between them. Vergil staggered backward a step. Vergil? Was that his name? He couldn't remember anymore. _

_Memories came flooding back to him as he met the man's fiery gaze and he shook his head, feeling his own power beginning to run rampant around him as his sanity slowly crumbled. Energy surged and he clutched at his head as he felt his own power turning against him. Still, he was unable to look away from that face he knew so well. _

_Was that a hint of recognition in his opponent's eyes? He felt ashamed as the power claimed him. Now that it was too late to change anything, he found himself wishing that he could have done things differently. He wished that he would have pursued his first love rather than his second, wished that he had not allowed himself to become so obsessed with power that he had been unable to even notice his brother's presence until it was too late._

_Blinding light enveloped him, and Dante looked away, shielding his eyes with a wince of pain. Vergil reached out to him though he knew he would never be able to make contact before it was too late. He was already beyond reach and Vergil realized with profound sorrow that he had squandered everything that he should have held dear. What was the point of only understanding something so important when it was too late?_

_With his dying breath, Vergil gazed at his brother and prayed for the first time in his life to a higher power he had never even believed existed. Forget about me, he whispered to his unhearing brother. Live your life for both of us and never look back._

Vergil heard his own shaky gasp in the quiet of the room as he awoke, dawn light slipping through a gap in the curtain and piercing his eyes with its icy brightness. Squinting as he shook off the melancholy of his dream, Vergil straightened and concentrated on slowing his pulse.

When he felt calm again, he opened his eyes and turned to look at the other occupants of the room and ensure that they were still asleep. Amon and Michael were both sleeping peacefully, the boy's snores finally quiet enough to be barely audible. Dante was also breathing deeply, but the sheets were twisted around his body as if he had been sleeping restlessly. Taking advantage of the rare moment, Vergil studied his brother's features long enough that Dante seemed to unconsciously notice the attention, shifting in his sleep with a soft sigh.

Still wrapped in Dante's coat, Vergil rose to his feet and hesitated. Vergil felt oddly vulnerable after the strange dream that had felt disturbingly like a memory, and he was having a hard time denying his need to be close to his brother. But he was too accustomed to the boundaries he had set for himself long ago to question crossing them now.

Shrugging out of the coat, Vergil placed it neatly on the dresser and reached for his own clothes. He needed some fresh air.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**While there wasn't a lot of actual interaction between couples, I think there was at least some romance, right? And we have some recurrence of acute Amon stupidity, but really, can you expect anything else from him? The question is, will he be able to keep up his act for long--especially if Robin confronts him head on about it? **

**Robin's dream about David Hasselhoff was something I wrote a long time ago and had intended to use in the third chapter before Robin woke up, but it was far too silly for that moment. It was actually written a long time ago when my coworkers and I were on a "making fun of David Hasselhoff" kick after seeing his ridiculous "Hooked on a Feeling" video for the first time. Sadly, I found out that I share the same birthday with him around that time--it really disturbed me when I found that out. He's so gross.**

**Incidentally, most of my dreams are rather like Michael's. I don't star or even show up in half of them. Michael had to take up the Sakaki role of geekdom in this chapter for me.**

**Back to the story…I'm also curious what all of you think about Vergil now…he's his own brand of messed up alright. And he has a tendency to hijack chapters… His dream at the end was actually my own interpretation/embellishment of the fight between them in the first Devil May Cry game, by the way. I thought I should probably give all of you a little more information at this point about the history between them.**

**I promise more WHR characters in the next chapter. Hope I didn't have too much DMC in this one…**


	10. If Things Were Perfect

**Author's Note: **

**Why does it always take me twice as long to get anywhere than it should? This chapter is mostly fluff—but I think it's fluff you'll enjoy! Sandwiched in the middle is a tiny bit of plot, and I really hope you don't all want to kill me by the end…**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**If Things Were Perfect**

Doujima paced back and forth in front of the elevator, her high heels clacking noisily against the floor.

An obnoxious groan of frustration from the other room made her grind her teeth and stop in her circuit with a cringe. Peeking around the corner, she glared at Sakaki who was cavorting around, a white remote gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were nearly as white as the plastic.

She had no idea what the name of his new video game obsession was—nor did she care—but he had brought it into work earlier in the week, claiming that he needed something to do to fill the hours or he would lose his mind. Doujima was of the opinion that he had already lost his mind regardless.

Another roar of frustration set her teeth on edge as he nearly punched the monitor before him. Grumbling under his breath, he leaned back in his chair again and shook his head.

With one last glance at the elevator, Doujima finally decided to overcome the unspoken truce of ignorance that had helped them to endure the last few days in the office. She pretended he didn't exist and he did likewise—and neither of them had to confront the things that had transpired between them. But she had reached the limit of her restraint. He had gone too far and she just couldn't stand by and watch.

Stalking across the room, she approached him with no intention of backing down. The sight of two yetis on the screen towering over a well built young man dressed all in green and toting a sword and shield made her hesitate. She recognized Link immediately despite her continual claims that she knew nothing about video games; he must have been playing that new Zelda game he had been dreaming about for months. A wave of nostalgia washed over her and she paused behind him, watching as he directed Link up a snowy mountain toward the Yetis.

"Link, uh. You race?" The smaller yeti on the screen said with a squeal, bouncing from one foot to another.

"You're on, bitch," Sakaki growled, startling Doujima. "And this time I'm taking you down despite your cheap tricks. Let's go!" He accepted the yeti's challenge and on the screen Link followed her down a ski slope on a sled made of ice. Sakaki leaned forward in his seat as he held the white remote balanced before him, biting his lower lip in concentration.

Caught up in the game, Doujima watched Link leap from a cliff and land on several snowy treetops before traversing a narrow bridge over a bottomless ravine, taking a shortcut to get in the lead. It looked like he was going to win, but at the last moment, the yeti cut in front of Link and sped to the finish line ahead of him. Sakaki erupted in rage and Doujima shook herself out of her reverie.

Stepping around him and deftly switching off the power on the white brick perched on the side of his desk, she casually walked away from him without a word. His eyes were boring holes into her back, but he remained silent and she did not acknowledge his glare.

She was halfway across the room before she heard him leap from his chair and pursue her, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her back against the wall roughly. Startled, she blinked up at him, unnerved by his proximity as much as his aggression.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with fury. "Haven't you already done enough without trying to ruin the last thing in my life I enjoy?"

Swallowing her retort and forcing herself to reply calmly, Doujima said, "You didn't seem to be enjoying it much at the moment anyway. And—as I already announced this morning—we have an important visitor from headquarters coming to the office today. Headquarters already thinks this branch has become nothing more than a joke. The last thing we need is one of their chief representatives walking in to find a STN-J hunter kicking back and playing video games."

"We? You're not one of us. You're practically headquarters yourself. What's this 'we' bullshit?"

"Haruto…"

Scowling, Sakaki released her abruptly. "Don't call me that. You've lost the privilege."

Doujima watched sadly as he stomped back to his workstation to sulk. Part of her was tempted to follow and attempt patching things up with him. It was a temptation that had been growing within her for days. She didn't know what good it would do—or why she wanted to try so badly—but at times the temptation was almost more than she could bear.

The chime of the elevator stopping on the fifth floor startled her back to reality. Turning swiftly and heading back to the foyer, she managed to skid to a stop before the doors opened, smiling broadly at the severe features of a distinguished old priest as he stepped out of the elevator.

"Welcome to the STN-J, Father Colegui."

------------

"I had the weirdest dream last night," Michael said between mouthfuls of rice and fish. Looking at Vergil, he continued, "You and Dracula were eating strawberry sundaes. And he wanted you to—"

"You dreamed about me?" Vergil did not seem pleased by this fact in the least. Michael froze, wishing that he hadn't said anything at all; he didn't really know what to think about Vergil, but he didn't think he wanted to be on the man's bad side.

"And did you say Dracula?" Karasuma asked doubtfully.

"Yeah? Well it could have been weirder," Dante interrupted after glancing at the door to the hotel restaurant for the dozenth time during breakfast. "He could have been dreaming about David Bowie." Dante said the name in a strange singsong tone that made Michael wonder if he was merely making an observation or if he was actually recollecting a dream of his own.

"Or David Hasselhoff," Robin murmured and everyone paused, shifting their focus to her in shock. Startled, she added uncomfortably, "One of the nuns at the convent used to watch Knight Rider." She lifted her bowl to finish her miso while everyone pondered this. Amon's eyes seemed particularly glued to her, but Michael supposed that was only to be expected.

"Anyway," Michael said, feeling the need to say more about his dream so that Vergil would know it wasn't kinky or anything, "he had hired you to kill Alucard, but then Dracula turned into Willem Dafoe when Alucard said Richter's line about him 'stealing men's souls' and he got his head cut off by Dr. Salvador."

Karasuma sighed. "Why do I suddenly feel as if Sakaki is with us?"

"Well, Haruto and I did play Resident Evil 4 back at the STN-J," Michael replied thoughtfully, "And he would always scream like a little girl when the guys with chainsaws showed up."

"Frankly," Dante commented dryly, stabbing a bit of egg with his chopsticks, "I think the scariest part of your dream was Willem Dafoe. That guy gives me the creeps."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Karasuma commented, "You kill demons for a living, and yet you are frightened by a movie star?"

Unperturbed, Dante looked up at her seriously, "Have you seen him?"

Michael felt an almost uncontrollable urge to throw his glass of water on the floor, but he knew that no one present would get the joke. Chuckling to himself, he finished off his rice and pushed his tray away. He was the first one to finish; everyone else seemed to be picking at their food as if they didn't have much of an appetite. Michael guessed that was because of the tension in the air. He had managed to alleviate it for a few minutes, but trying to bring Amon out of his near trance and Vergil and Dante out of their glaring wars was a lot of work.

Suddenly, pushing his tray away though it was only half finished, Dante announced, "I'm going upstairs."

Karasuma looked up at him with a hint of understanding in her eyes, and Michael noticed that she handed him a room key. He must have been going to check on Trish who still hadn't joined them. When he was gone, the silence became even more uncomfortable than it had been before, and Michael searched desperately for something to say.

"You know, they say that if you only visit Osorezan once, your soul stays there when you leave," he said ominously, hoping to catch everyone's attention.

Vergil laughed shortly, and Michael blinked in confusion as he looked at Amon with meaning in his eyes. Robin watched the two of them in apprehension and even Karasuma seemed disturbed by the silent exchange.

"It's probably not true…" Michael managed awkwardly. "Just a stupid superstition."

"Superstitions are repeated because they often contain a thread of truth," Vergil replied quietly, taking a sip of tea.

---------

Trish took a long, hot shower, letting the scalding water pound against her skin until it was an angry pink. Though she knew it was impossible, she felt as if she were washing away the suffering of the last several days along with the grime.

She had been too tired to bother with a shower the night before, though she imagined that part of her had simply wanted the excuse to have some time to herself. She had shooed the other girls along, telling them to go downstairs for breakfast without her. She would grab a snack later—in a place where she wouldn't be forced to sit at a table with Vergil. He tended to make her lose her appetite entirely. Reluctantly, Karasuma had relented, dragging Robin along with her and leaving Trish alone for the first time since she had fallen through the gate into hell.

Finally turning off the water, she stepped out into the steamy bathroom and toweled off, taking her time to dress and brush the tangles out of her hair. She had to admit she was grateful that Dante had brought all her luggage along with him so it was waiting for her—though the exchange between them the night before had been rather awkward.

Sighing, Trish regarded her tired expression in the mirror, wishing that she could have managed to get a little more rest. It had resulted in a strange, but comforting heart to heart between her and Robin though, and she had to admit that the talk had been almost as good for her spirit as sleep would have been.

She shivered at the cooler temperature as she stepped out of the pleasantly warm bathroom. Looking around for where she had left her suitcase, she froze when she realized that the room wasn't empty. Leaning against the wall casually, Dante was gazing down at the street below, one hand hooked in a pocket of his worn blue jeans, the other raising a bottle of tomato juice to his lips. Trish's fingers tightened in the bundle of clothes she had brought from the bathroom and she swallowed, her eyes lingering on him hungrily while her heart raced in her chest. She hadn't been prepared to see him yet.

Finally dragging her eyes away from him, she noticed the assortment of food spread over the coffee table. He had brought her breakfast. Some selfish part of her that had been wanting to cling to her anger thawed slightly and she quickly turned her attention to putting her things away in her suitcase in an attempt to keep herself from melting into a puddle on the floor.

He turned at the sound and she looked up at him reluctantly, trying very hard not to be persuaded by the intensity of his eyes; his face was nearly expressionless, but his eyes were burning like a wildfire. For the briefest of moments she feared that she might have somehow mistaken Vergil for Dante because of his placid expression, but the quiet, lopsided smile that gently tugged at his lips erased her fears.

"Hungry?" he asked softly, gesturing to the table and turning away from the window.

"A little," she said just as quietly, approaching him with caution and stopping far enough away to be safe. Emotion boiled within her, fear, doubt and guilt twisting her insides into painful knots.

Dante regarded her with uncertainty as if he was afraid to make the first move, a highly uncharacteristic but understandable reaction considering how she had acted the night before. "I was worried when you didn't come down for breakfast," he said, looking away self-consciously and carefully placing his empty bottle of tomato juice down on the dresser. "I know you're probably still angry…and if you want me to leave, I will. I just—"

"Dante," she said with a smile and he fell silent, watching her intently. "Shut up." He didn't blink as she closed the distance between him and pressed him back against the wall with a hand on his chest. The doubt in his eyes broadcast his discomfort with surrendering all the control over the situation to her, but he seemed willing to deal with it for the moment at least.

She traced the contours of his face tenderly with her fingertips, and though it had only been a few days, it felt as if it had been years since she had been this close to him. Though the last thing she wanted to do was compare him to his brother, she found herself searching to find the visible differences between him and Vergil. While Vergil was smooth and manicured, perfect and cold like sculpted marble, Dante was uneven and rugged, imperfect, but so very real.

Her fingers had moved along his jaw to his neck, but her eyes lingered on his lips. She wanted to kiss him but she was afraid—frightened that the memory of other lips would cause her to react and push him away. Her nerves were still raw and his aspect too similar for her to trust herself.

With surprising patience, Dante allowed her to continue her tactile appraisal of him without making contact on his own, though she could feel how hard it was for him to do so by the tension in the muscles beneath her fingertips. He wasn't one to hold himself back, but she suspected he had some possible explanations for her extreme reaction already developing in his head and he was being abnormally cautious because of them.

Still, she knew that his restraint was not endless, and if she pushed him too far she would end up thrown back onto the bed and stripped before she could even protest. And that was likely to end profoundly badly. She knew that her defensive instincts were heightened enough that she would probably end up ripping him to shreds without thinking if he even attempted such a thing.

Sensing his growing restlessness at her teasing touches, she met his eyes again and felt a reckless need take hold of her. Her fears suddenly became less important as she gazed into the desire in his eyes. She needed to get Vergil's taunting face and hateful touches out of her head. She needed to erase him from her memory and replace those tainted memories with new memories of Dante.

Tangling her fingers in the strands of hair at the nape of Dante's neck, she pulled him down toward her, attacking his mouth fervently. She clamped her arms around his neck a moment later and deepened the kiss to the limit of her tongue's reach, unable to get enough contact once she had finally broached the invisible barrier between them. He tasted like the tomato juice he had recently been drinking, but she didn't care—for her, the kiss was about emotion, not flavor. For his part, he seemed a little startled by her passion, but no less eager, his palms splayed across her back as he pressed her against him as if he could merge their bodies into one through force alone.

Coming up for air without relinquishing her hold on him, Trish pulled herself off the ground and swung her legs around his hips, one of her hands working at his shirt while her other arm was still hooked around his neck at the elbow, her mouth finding his again and continuing to devour it relentlessly. He helped her with his shirt and shrugged out of it with impatience, taking the opportunity to switch their positions and press her back against the wall. Clawing at his bare skin in her eagerness, she released his lips finally and allowed him to tug her shirt over her head as well. The wall felt cold against her back, but she barely felt the chill with the heat of his body pressed against her.

Lost in sensation, Trish fought the small but steadily growing panic inside of her. His lips and tongue explored her neck and followed the curve of her breasts like a man exploring familiar territory; he knew where to touch her to make her cry out, knew how to hesitate just long enough to make her growl for more. She tangled her fingers in his hair helplessly, wondering when she had given him all the control. Irrational fear was growing steadily inside of her, and though she wanted him, she knew a frightened, abused part of her that had been created by her encounter with Vergil was starting to view him as a threat.

She found herself suddenly frozen, unable to move as he clutched her to him and caged her within his strong, unyielding arms. Her legs went limp and he misread the gesture, gripping her torso firmly with one arm just above her waist and lifting her against him as he began undoing the fastenings of her pants. She braced herself against his shoulders, panic suddenly overflowing inside of her and a scream building in her throat.

"Stop!" she shouted breathlessly, shoving him backward with all her strength and collapsing back against the suddenly icy wall. She knew the rejection would hurt him, but she had been unable to stop herself.

Catching himself against a chair, he gaped at her in disbelief, his lips flushed to a delicious red and his shoulders crisscrossed with scratches she had written into his skin. Sweat dampened hair clung to his neck and his silver brows were furrowed as he stared at her with raw emotion burning in his cerulean eyes. He looked beautiful and she could only tremble as she panted for air and looked away, covering herself hastily with one arm and searching for her discarded clothes on the floor. He didn't move, continuing to stare at her as if she had just grown a second head.

When she was dressed again and somewhat composed, she turned around reluctantly to look at him. He was perched on the arm of the chair, his arms crossed over his bare chest and his face set in a scowl as he glared at some insignificant detail of the dresser beside her.

"I'm sorry," she said feebly, wishing that she had not given into her impulses so completely. It had been incredibly unfair of her to initiate something like this with him when she hadn't been sure if she could finish what she started.

Without looking at her, he asked icily, "Am I going to get an explanation?"

"I…" Trish couldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't say the words. "I'm sorry."

Still avoiding her eyes, he scooped his red shirt off the floor and headed for the door.

"Dante," she cried, and he actually paused, though he didn't turn around. "It's not what you're thinking."

"And what am I thinking?"

There was a knock at the door and both of them jumped in surprise. His expression dark and brooding, Dante absently threw his shirt around his shoulders and began buttoning it, taking a step away from the door so that she could answer it. She gazed at his back for a long moment in regret before finally turning away and reaching for the doorknob.

Karasuma regarded her uncertainly from the hallway. "I hope we're not interrupting anything," she said, biting her lower lip. All the others were standing behind her and Trish was momentarily floored by their terrible timing. On one hand, it had rescued her from being forced to tell Dante what had happened, but on the other, it had left Dante with a likely mistaken impression of why she had pushed him away. It was worse than their argument the night before.

"We need to decide what our next step is before we waste another day," Vergil snapped coldly and Trish gripped the doorknob to keep her hand from shaking.

She glanced at Amon; he of all people should have known better than to interrupt them at that moment since he had surely felt Dante's emotions. His grey eyes were not exactly repentant when he returned her look, but she was reassured that they were not gloating either. It seemed that Vergil had been the instigator of the interruption and the others had been unable or unwilling to talk him out of it—a fact that surprised her not at all.

Wordlessly, Trish stepped away from the door, pulling it open and ushering the others inside.

----------

Though it was the larger of the two rooms, the hotel room was a tight fight for all of them. Karasuma, Michael and Robin were squeezed onto the couch, Amon on one chair, Trish on the other, and Vergil and Dante both leaning against walls on opposite sides of the sitting area. It certainly lacked the comfort of Harry's, but it was the best they could manage at the moment--and it wasn't as if the size of the room was what was really bothering Dante anyway.

Turned toward the window in nearly the same place he had been standing when Trish had come out of the bathroom, Dante scowled at the scenery outside with his arms crossed over his chest. He was having a hard time paying attention to the conversation, his senses on overdrive and his body still recovering from the sudden, painful disappointment of Trish's rejection. While he had guessed at several possibilities of what had happened between her and Vergil that could have been significant enough for Amon to notice, none of them seemed to quite explain her strange behavior now.

If Vergil had hurt her--had physically abused her or sexually assaulted her--he didn't think she would have been so willing to get close to him in the first place. Not when he had the same face. Unless she had been trying to act as if everything was normal. She might have come on to him to try to hide that anything had happened at all, but had been unable to go through with it in the end.

He knew Trish would talk to him eventually and he would find out the truth. Until then, there was no use jumping to conclusions—except that he was going to blame Vergil for everything until he was given proof to the contrary. Shaking himself slightly, Dante tried to focus on the discussion to distract himself from his useless, circular thoughts.

Sitting forward on the crowded couch and trying to find a little more room, Karasuma was asking, "Should we go back to Tokyo? The resources at the STN-J would be—"

"We can't go back to the STN-J," Michael interrupted sadly, actually capturing some of Dante's attention. "Out of curiosity, I hacked into the database this morning. Headquarters has sent one of their head honchos there to investigate what happened with Zaizen, and from what I can tell, they also have orders out to find Robin."

Robin's eyes widened. "They're looking for me?"

Michael nodded. "Apparently, they noticed you when they were flying back over the area they had bombed and your powers sent up a huge red flag. For some reason, I think they assumed that you were the one responsible for everything. They think you've turned into a witch."

Looking down at her hands in her lap, Robin's shoulders slumped and she seemed to fold into herself. Dante's scowl deepened as he thought about how she had been using her powers to protect him at the time. It wasn't fair. She had nearly died—would have died regardless if she hadn't used her powers to protect them from the bombing--and yet she was being targeted for surviving. And to top it all off, she couldn't even remember any of it.

"We need to leave the country," Amon said suddenly, his expression serious and edged with worry. "Quietly. If we can slip out before Solomon knows we are leaving, then it will take them longer to catch up with us."

"What about Lucifer?" Karasuma reminded. "I thought he was our next priority. If we have reason to suspect he's still in Japan, then we can't just leave."

"He's not in Japan," Vergil offered blandly.

Dante smirked bitterly at him; it was really hard not to fly across the room and the throttle the self-assured expression off the bastard's face. "Care to elaborate?"

Vergil paused, meeting Dante's glare evenly. "While I don't know the exact location of Lucifer's body, I am fairly certain it is somewhere in Europe."

Chuckling dryly, Dante retorted, "Somewhere in Europe, huh? That's pretty specific. Let's just comb the whole continent, then. Shouldn't take more than a few hundred years."

"I have a starting point," Vergil interrupted without emotion in his voice, either unmoved by Dante's reaction or choosing to ignore it.

"And that is?" Amon prompted with a hint of impatience; Dante knew his emotions were probably putting the other man on edge as well, but he didn't care enough to feel guilt over it.

"We need to start at the last point we know for certain our father has been." Vergil's eyes settled piercingly on Dante again. "I believe we can find clues still buried there."

"Buried where?" Dante wasn't about to assume anything; Vergil was too good at leaving things unsaid that would raise questions if one only thought to ask.

A small, thoughtful smile curved his lips. "In our home. The place where we grew up."

Looking away to hide the emotion in his eyes, Dante gritted his teeth. Hearing Vergil talk about the place where they had endured their childhood as "home" affected him more than he wanted to admit; the entire time they had been there, Vergil had been clamoring to escape. Dante had been eager to leave as well, but that was mostly because he had secretly hoped that his brother would include him in his plans wherever he went. As much as they had fought as children, Dante had always believed that he and Vergil would always be together, their relationship as indivisible as it was volatile. Vergil had not felt the same way, and when circumstances had forced them out of their home earlier than their mother had wanted, Vergil had left him behind without looking back.

Oblivious to Dante's thoughts, Vergil continued in that emotionless voice, "I believe the answers we seek can be uncovered there. Our father's study was not entirely destroyed in the fire that burned our house. Before we left, I sealed it to keep it safe, but now I think it would be worth a visit. And there are dozens of places in that sleepy village where our father might have left us a hint. He must have suspected that eventually the seal he created would break down and need to be renewed, so he certainly would have left us some kind of information about doing so."

They debated Vergil's suggestion for an hour, though Dante found he could only half-heartedly argue the point. He knew his brother was right. If their father had been the one to seal Lucifer's body away, then he must have left clues behind for them to continue what he had started. Anyway, it wasn't as if they had any better ideas about where to start looking.

Finally they dispersed, the decision all but made and Michael set to start booking their flight out of the country. Karasuma dragged Vergil away with mutters of needing to get him a passport—exactly how she intended to do such a thing was beyond Dante, but she seemed to be confident that she would find a way to make it happen. He was mildly amused that someone as straight-laced as Karasuma would have a way of obtaining an illegal passport, but he was also a little worried that she was going off alone with his brother.

Trish seemed to be thinking the same thing because she offered to tag along with them—at least, Dante chose to believe that was her motivation—and Karasuma accepted. She looked back at him as they left, her eyes mournful and apologetic all at once, but Dante looked away before he found himself saying something he shouldn't.

"Is everything all right?" Amon asked quietly, pausing next to him.

Avoiding the concern in his eyes, Dante summoned his best imitation of his usual smirk. "Just great."

Catching his arm firmly, Amon said, "There's something I have to take care of while I still have the chance before we leave the country. I'm likely to be tied up with phone calls for a while. Would you look after Robin?"

Sighing tiredly, Dante murmured, "Whatever."

Amon seemed to take his answer as a yes since he nodded and headed for the door.

----------

Robin felt anxious and she didn't know what to do about it.

Michael was absorbed with booking their flights while trying to cover their tracks so that Solomon would not figure out their plans until it was too late, his fingers flying over the keyboard and his eyes focused intently on the screen. Dante was napping on one of the beds, his feet still on the ground as he sprawled back sideways over the mattress and one arm flung over his eyes. Neither of them seemed very approachable at the moment, so Robin found herself pacing slowly around the room, her arms crossed over her stomach.

She couldn't stop thinking about Amon. All though the meeting, and even after Michael had announced that Solomon was targeting her, she could do nothing but think about what Trish had told her during their late night discussion. What was it that she couldn't remember? Whatever it was, it clearly must have involved Amon since Trish seemed to think he was the most appropriate person to tell her about it. And Trish had been so certain of her feelings for Amon…as if those feelings had already been revealed publicly. Robin shivered. It was unnerving to think that a part of her soul had been exposed to everyone and yet they had chosen to ignore it and pretend it didn't exist. Had Amon rejected her? Had they been trying to save her from embarrassment? She couldn't stand not knowing.

Finally, unable to stand her restlessness any longer, she found herself wandering over to Dante. He was shielding her from his emotions again, but she could still tell that he was troubled. Tentatively sitting down on the bed beside him, she pulled her knees up to her chest and gazed blankly at the white glow of the windows.

"Dante," she said softly when he didn't even react to her presence.

He grunted wordlessly in response but did not move.

"Where is Amon?"

"Hell if I know," he mumbled, his voice muffled by his arm as he shifted his position with a sigh. Though she didn't know him very well, she felt that he was being unusually irritable.

They sat in silence for a while and Robin listened to Michael work on the computer with increasing impatience. After trying and failing to think of another way to engage Dante in conversation, Robin finally announced, "I'm going to go look for him," and scooted back toward the edge of the bed.

Dante caught her wrist and she looked back at him in surprise. His expression a mixture of annoyance and resignation as he looked up at her from beneath a fringe of tousled hair, he said, "Not a good idea."

Robin bristled. "Why not?" she asked crisply, and his drowsy eyes sharpened at the anger in her voice.

"He said he had some things to do. He's probably busy."

Trying to tug her wrist out of his grasp, Robin said with a frown, "Why do I feel like everyone is trying to keep me away from him?" She realized that she had drawn Michael's attention when she noticed that she couldn't hear his fingers against the keyboard anymore, but she didn't care.

"Robin…" Dante began, but he didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence because it hung incomplete on the air for several moments.

"I'm going," she said again, freeing her hand finally and sliding off the bed.

Dante had sat up and caught her around the waist before she could even take two steps. "Amon asked me to look after you," he said flatly.

"Why would he do that?" Robin avoided Michael's wide-eyed gaze as she pried at Dante's arm.

"Because he's worried about you and doesn't want you to wander off. We have Solomon to worry about now as much as Lucifer."

Twisting around in his grip, Robin demanded, "Then why doesn't he look after me himself if he's so worried?"

The fire in her eyes must have startled Dante because his grip went slack. She took advantage of the opportunity and pulled away, rubbing her wrist where he had been holding it before. "Robin!" he said sharply when she darted for the door.

She growled in frustration as he shoved the door closed before she could open it wide enough to slip into the hallway. Glaring at his hand, she felt tears burn in her eyes. "Trish told me that you and Karasuma left things out when you were telling me what I've forgotten," she whispered, unable to keep the resentment out of her voice. "She said I should ask Amon about it."

Though she couldn't see his face, she could sense Dante's tangled emotions twisting even tighter. He didn't reply right away, but his hand twitched against the door.

"He's probably in the other room," he said finally with a voice bled dry of emotion, his hand sliding down the door and dropping to his side. "I have the other key."

Robin turned toward him cautiously, taking the keycard he offered though she was surprised by his sudden change of heart. His expression was unreadable, but she could tell that he had no intention of stopping her again. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Just don't go anywhere else," he said firmly. "And if he's not there, come back and get me before you go wandering around looking for him."

Nodding, Robin touched his arm lightly. "I'll be careful."

-----------

In spite of his better judgment, Sakaki found himself staring at Doujima as she leaned against the windowsill, one finger pressed against her lips pensively as she stared blankly at the floor. He had just been grilled by the big wigs from headquarters and he felt equally disturbed and frustrated by what the questioning had revealed.

For the first time since Karasuma and Michael had left, Doujima was alone, her friends from headquarters nowhere to be seen and Sakaki found himself tempted to talk to her. He had no desire to forgive her—she hadn't proven she deserved to be forgiven—but he did feel the need to talk to her after the interrogation he had just endured.

He could hear Father Colegui and his subordinate beginning their interview with Chief Kosaka, and Sakaki shivered, burying his hands in his pockets and slowly crossing the room to Doujima. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear him approach, and he had leaned up against the wall next to her before she reacted.

Blinking up at him in surprise, she opened her mouth but didn't say a word, slowly closing it a moment later uncertainly.

"They're after Robin," he said evenly, watching her expression.

"I know."

"Did you know before?"

She shook her head slowly. "They have Michael's computer tapped. They know everything he does—purposely leaked information to him to influence their plans. Solomon won't let them get away." Her voice was quiet but fraught with worry, and she bit her lower lip when she was finished, rubbing her palms against each other.

Sakaki hesitated, pushing away one last doubt as he took the leap of faith and allowed himself to trust her again. "What are we going to do about it?"

She gaped at him in astonishment for a moment. "We?" she asked.

He smiled tentatively. "You _are_ going to help me, aren't you?"

----------

Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the ugly still life of several apples and a vase with flowers hanging on the wall, Amon clenched the phone tightly enough that he was surprised it didn't break in half. The phone continued to ring in his ear, and his teeth grinded against each other painfully.

Finally, a voice answered and Amon's tension reached a new level of unpleasantness.

"Nagira," he said quietly.

"Amon?" the voice on the other end snapped. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"That's not important. I'm calling you about—"

"She's gone," Nagira interrupted him before he could say anything more, anger dripping from his words. "Some goons from Solomon tried to kidnap her, but she fought back."

"Fought back…" Amon echoed softly, his mouth going dry.

"Yeah." Nagira confirmed sourly. "She's inherited your powers. I tried to help her out, but she thought I was one of them and nearly killed me. She's powerful, and she's just as bad tempered as you."

Amon didn't blink for fear of dislodging the liquid that had suddenly filled his eyes. "Did she escape?"

Sighing, Nagira shifted in his chair. "For a little while. But they caught up with her before I could. I've been searching for days, but the trail's gone cold."

Amon's mind was racing. It just didn't make sense. Zaizen was dead and Amon had always assumed his threats about Simone had implied that his death would mean hers, but if the men after her had been trying to kidnap her and not kill her then what had Zaizen actually intended? Unless the men after her weren't actually Zaizen's at all and were merely Solomon agents acting on orders to capture a witch. But Solomon didn't take witches captive anywhere else in the world other than Japan and the STN-J was temporarily closed down. Everywhere else, they simply killed them.

"You don't seem surprised by any of this," Nagira commented coldly. "Should I assume that you had something to do with it?"

Amon took a deep breath to slow his heart rate, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Zaizen's dead. He promised that he had a failsafe in place that included her."

"So they're hunting her on your deranged dead boss' orders?"

"Now that her powers have awoken, I doubt Zaizen's orders are the only reason they're after her." He paused, trying to swallow past the dryness in his throat. "But she's only a child. She can't outrun them forever."

"You're just going to write her off?" Nagira demanded, and Amon felt shamed by the frustration in his voice. "Dammit, Amon, I won't forgive you if you leave your child to her fate just because you're too busy to look for her."

Amon's hand clenched in his hair and he fought the temptation to snap back at his brother. "I'm not writing her off. But there's something I have to take care of. I need to leave the country."

"I've hit a dead end on this." The anger in Nagira's voice was rising exponentially with every word. "I've run out of leads to follow, and frankly, this isn't my responsibility in the first place. I'm not about to let them just kill my niece without trying to stop them, but I'm not letting you get away with another one of your disappearing acts either. I swear, if you try to run away, I'm coming after you and—"

"Syunji." The unspoken plea was obvious in his voice.

There was a long pause at the end of which Nagira sighed deeply. "Something's happened, hasn't it? I can hear it in your voice. I thought maybe…no, I was just angry. I didn't want to give in. But this time things are different, aren't they? You really are in trouble."

Amon swallowed and tried to think of a response. He couldn't possibly tell Nagira the truth; he would never believe him regardless. And really, was it absolutely necessary that he help the others defeat Lucifer? Was there anything he could personally do to help in the first place, or was he just unwilling to leave Robin to face Lucifer without him? It wasn't as if she would be alone. Dante was more than capable of protecting her on his own.

"Where did you lose the trail?" he asked faintly, already feeling himself making the decision. It would be better for Robin if he weren't around anyway. He wouldn't have to keep pushing her away—wouldn't be constantly tempted by her.

His voice still betraying his worry though it was less severe than before, Nagira began telling Amon all the details of Simone's disappearance, the status of her injured foster parents and where he guessed the Solomon agents had taken her. Amon absorbed the information distantly, feeling disconnected from his body as he considered the new possibilities that had just been laid at his feet.

Amon stiffened when he heard the door open and close behind him, but he didn't turn to see who had entered the room. It was probably Dante since he was the one with the other key and Amon relaxed somewhat, relieved that he would be able to tell the demon hunter about his decision first before he had to reveal it to everyone else.

"And that's all I know," Nagira finished. "Do you have any ideas?"

Hesitating, Amon replied, "I'll have to do a little more research on my end. They could have taken her anywhere."

"Okay. Let me know what you find out. I'm going to contact a few other people I know again—see if anything new has turned up."

"I'll talk to you soon," Amon replied hollowly, starting to hang up the phone.

"Take care of yourself," Nagira said just before they were disconnected.

Amon closed his eyes, letting the full significance of his decision sink in. Then, feeling the weight of a gaze focused on his back, he turned to look behind him as he dropped the phone back into its cradle. He felt his resolve waver instantly at the sight of wide green eyes. "Robin," he whispered.

"Has something happened?" she asked softly, her fingers twisted in her skirt as she took an uncertain step toward him.

Looking away, Amon tried to decide how much to tell her. She didn't remember anything about Simone, and he would rather keep it that way. "I may not be able to come with you to find Lucifer."

Robin didn't respond and he finally glanced up at her through strands of dark hair. Her emotions came through their connection so clearly that he almost felt them as his own; she was shocked by his statement, but also felt slightly betrayed. "Why?" she whispered, standing forlornly at the end of the bed.

"Someone…I know is in danger. Someone I have a responsibility to protect." Saying the words out loud made him feel like he really was betraying her; even if she couldn't remember everything that had happened, she had surely been depending on him to protect her, but he was abandoning her to protect someone else—someone she didn't even know. "Dante can—"

"Dante's not my partner," she murmured, though her quiet voice silenced him easily. He found it odd that she would choose to remind him of their assignment as partners when it had never really had much influence over his actions before. But he supposed it was the only connection between them that she really had to cling to.

"Robin, this is important," he said firmly. "I want to defeat Lucifer as much as you do, but I can't just let this go."

"Then we'll go with you and take care of it together."

Standing up and turning his back on her to avoid the hurt in her eyes, he snapped, "No. This is something I have to do on my own. And Lucifer has already had enough time to get ahead of us."

"Amon," she breathed, hovering at his side.

Summoning what little resolve he had left, Amon pushed his emotions aside and turned to her. "Where is Dante? He was supposed to be looking after you."

"I'm not a child." Amon felt something inside of him crumbling when he saw the defiance in her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

Amon wanted to tell her that she shouldn't take the danger she was in so lightly--that this was not the time for her to be needlessly reckless--but he didn't have the words. "Robin…that's not what this is about. Solomon is hunting you, and you should know better than most what that means."

Her expression fiercely determined, she said, "I want to know what happened between us that no one will tell me about."

Feeling as if the floor had just fallen out from beneath him, Amon steadied himself with a hand against the wall, trying to continue meeting her eyes without losing control. After what Karasuma had told him, he had expected Robin to be her cautious self with him again. He certainly hadn't expected her to confront him--especially about something like this. Was it possible that she had started to remember—or did she only suspect?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said impassively, praying that she would accept his explanation because he didn't know how long he could deter her.

"I don't believe you." She shook her head sadly. "I need to know, Amon. What happened? Why do I feel as if you're the key to my missing memories?"

Amon shook his head, feeling cornered by her direct questions.

"Please," she begged, and his eyes focused on her again, guilt twisting in his chest when he saw the frustrated determination in her eyes. "I'm tired of not remembering. I'm tired of feeling lost. Ever since I woke up after the fight with Beatrice I feel as if I've been surrounded by strangers and everyone's only been telling me half of the story. I don't want to be protected anymore. I want to know the truth!"

A tear slid down her cheek, and Amon found himself gently brushing it away before he could even think to hold himself back. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion and her eyes were burning with a desperation that ate away at his last scrap of restraint. Dante's words on the bus came back to him. _Why are you holding yourself back?_ He found that he could no longer remember the answer.

His hand still cupping her cheek, he said softly, "You really want to know what happened? You confronted me and forced me to face my own weakness—like you're doing now." He took a step closer to her, tilting her chin so that their noses were nearly touching. She was trembling beneath his fingertips. "You pushed past my defenses as if they weren't even there, and I could do nothing to stop you."

"Amon." Her eyes were impossibly wide, her lips parted invitingly.

Closing his eyes, he remembered how she had undone him before by merely saying his name. Stunned by how quickly she had made him submit to her this time, he relinquished his last thread of control and decided that he had never truly had the control in the first place. Light filtered dimly through his hair as it tumbled down around them like a curtain and he watched the emotions pooling in her eyes as he leaned closer.

She melted against him as he claimed her lips, her hands clutching at his shirt and clinging to him anxiously as if she expected him to disappear. Pulling her against him, and lifting her off her feet slightly to improve the angle between them, Amon felt all his anxiety, frustration and longing pouring out of him through the kiss, and though he knew it was probably unfair to take advantage of her when she couldn't remember how they had gotten to this point, he was past being able to stop himself.

He came up for air briefly, nuzzling against her cheek and following the line of her slender neck with his lips, her quick, shallow breaths tickling against his skin. Astonishment mingled with a feeling of fulfillment of some long unspoken need washed over him through their connection, and he couldn't help but hold her tighter as he felt his own emotions echoing her need. Coherent thought drained away from him and he became a slave to sensation, his worries and guilt for his daughter and his decision to leave Robin lost in his inability to think.

Lowering her down onto the bed, he perched himself carefully above her, returning his attention to her lips. Her slender fingers tangled in his hair and her back arched beneath him, causing him to growl softly against her lips, his hand wandering down over her waist and tugging at the fabric of her skirt to lift it. He knew he should stop himself; they were alone in a hotel room with the only keys to the room in their possession, but he was emotionally weakened by everything that had happened lately. He wasn't exactly in a sound state of mind, and her need was enough to consume him.

Doubt echoing in his head, he finally found bare skin, nipping at her lips as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, brushing lightly over smooth skin. Suddenly she stiffened beneath him and he froze, realizing that he was probably moving far too fast for her. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her clenched features in dismay; her brows were furrowed and her mouth was contorted in something close to a grimace.

"Robin," he murmured helplessly when he felt agony sweep across their connection, followed quickly by a confused flurry of emotion that left him reeling. By the time it subsided he was shuddering above her, unable to even breath.

Her eyes opened, jewel-like emerald orbs glowing with unearthly light. Gripping his shirt firmly, she practically sat up beneath him, forcing him to stagger backwards, his eyes glued to hers as she stared at him with unnerving intensity.

"I remember," she whispered, clutching at him even more tightly. "I remember everything."

Amon couldn't speak, simply gaping at her as her skin began to glow faintly as well, her eyes on fire and her skin feverishly hot.

"And I saw something else. The one you need to protect. It's your daughter, isn't it? She's in trouble."

"Robin." For once he was the one who could do nothing but cling to her name. His fingers traced lightly over her face, testing the warmth of her skin wonderingly.

"I understand why you have to go," she said sadly, and he caught her tear with his thumb before it fell. Leaning forward he caught a second tear on her cheek with his lips.

"I don't want to leave you." He was shocked by the meekness in his own voice.

Blinking slowly, she replied, "But you have to."

Swept up in emotion, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, one hand cradling the nape of her neck as his other arm pressed against her lower back. Her arms clung tightly to him as well, and the reverberations of their emotions echoing through their connection and back again were overwhelming enough to drown him.

"Stay with me," she said faintly. "Just for a little while. I know you will still have to go eventually, but please, just hold me until then."

He nodded against her, slowly rearranging them so that they were lying side by side on the bed. It was nearly platonic, such a contrast to the desires that had recently been flooding through him that he could do nothing but lay in bewilderment and hold her crushingly close.

Slowly, reason returned to him as he began to calm down, drawing circles over her slim back and listening to the sound of her heartbeat. Relief that her memories had returned was doubled by relief that it had happened in time to stop him before he rushed through something that he wanted to be able to take the time to enjoy. If he was going to give in entirely and stop fighting what he truly wanted, then he was going to do it right.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured, and he knew that she had felt his shifting emotions and was wondering at them.

"You deserve better than what I almost did," he replied with regret heavy in his voice.

She hugged him tighter, but did not say a word.

----------

Michael's hands hovered over the computer when he heard Dante's dry laugh. Glancing over at him curiously, Michael raised an eyebrow as Dante pushed himself up on his elbows on the bed, his lips curved into a wistful smile.

"Well," Dante said gruffly. "At least someone's happy." Standing up and stretching lazily, he wandered over to where Michael was still regarding him in confusion. "Sorry, kid," he added, patting Michael once lightly on the head before turning and heading for the door.

Watching him go with a sadness he couldn't describe, Michael pieced together what Dante wasn't saying and frowned at his computer screen.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I know, I know. They just got back together and I'm splitting them up again. I hadn't originally intended things to go this way, but as I was actually writing it out I realized that it couldn't go any other way. Otherwise you people would be screaming that Amon was being a terrible father to abandon his child. That doesn't mean he's going to be missing forever though. He will be back before long, and I think you'll like how it works out in the end.**

**I had originally intended to do a lot more with Juliano as well at this point, but found that it didn't really fit. I don't think this will be the last we see of him though...**

**The part of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess that Sakaki was playing in the beginning was a part that really annoyed me—as I'm sure you could imagine. Damn yetis and their race for a heart piece…**

**Poor Michael…and poor Dante and Trish. I'm so mean to my characters. But at least some of them are having a slightly easier time of it.**

**Oh, and before I forget to mention it, I'm going to put a disclaimer right here that I am being purposely vague about where they're going. I'm sort of making things up as I go with DMC history, and there's no official word as to where Dante and Vergil grew up. Because of that—and the fact that I write a whole lot faster when I'm not being anal and researching the crap out of locations in my story—this place will henceforth be known as "undisclosed location in Europe." A cop out it may be, but it is a useful one. Plus, I really like having such a cool name for it. We can even shorten it to ULE. I can say right now though that this is going to be one creepy little undisclosed location in Europe. I'm really excited to write about it. But first, we need to get out of the country.**


	11. Fly Away

**Author's Note:**

**This is sort of a transitional chapter, but it still has a little bit of everything. Some humor, a hint of romance, angst and even some action. Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Fly Away**

"Are you ready?"

Dante opened his eyes halfway and frowned at Karasuma. She was wearing flimsy plastic gloves and vigorously shaking a bottle of dirty brown liquid with a serious expression. "No," he said with a sigh, "But let's do it anyway."

He followed her into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, snowy white hair glowing in the fluorescent light. Looking away with effort, he reminded himself that this was only temporary.

"Your shirt," Karasuma said hesitantly, making an awkward gesture toward his grey t-shirt.

A smile spread across his face, and he continued to meet her eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head, only loosing eye contact when the fabric interrupted their gaze. When he had tossed the shirt into the other room and looked back at her, she was shaking her head in exasperation.

Turning on the water in the bathtub, she tested its temperature and said, "Okay, we need to get your hair wet."

She handed him a towel to catch the drips from his damp hair when he had done as she asked and ordered him to sit down on the closed toilet seat. "Here we go," she announced airily and he closed his eyes.

Though Dante could pretend he wasn't vain, he would only be pretending. He had always liked his platinum hair—had liked the fact that it set him apart and drew attention—enjoyed the way women ran their hands through it wonderingly as if it actually was the precious metal it resembled. Even if it was only temporary, the idea of having drab brown hair did not appeal to him, but the part that made it even more annoying was that his brother had somehow managed to get off with only a ridiculous hat to hide his shock of white hair. God forbid that Vergil dye _his_ hair.

Concentrating on the pleasant sensation of Karasuma's fingers against his scalp, Dante tried to ignore the chill liquid she was squeezing onto his head and massaging into his hair. "I hope this works," she murmured. "Your hair barely has any pigment to start with, so I'm not sure how well the color will stick."

"We don't want it to stick," Dante growled softly. "I thought you said I would be able to wash it out."

She laughed and he had to clench his hands in his jeans to repress the urge to retaliate. "It will wash out. But we want to make sure it looks fairly natural or there's no point in the first place." Dante bit down on a sarcastic reply, but let out a strangled cry when he felt her fingers rubbing over his forehead. He glared up at her and she pursed her lips in an expression that had a motherly "it's for your own good" written all over it. "We can't exactly leave your eyebrows white, can we?"

Finally the torture was over and Karasuma turned on the water in the shower to rinse out the excess dye. Dante watched the russet liquid swirl down the drain, thinking of the color of dried blood and trying not to sigh too much—Karasuma already seemed annoyed enough by his constant sighs.

"You would think that I was cutting off your arm with as much as you're whining," she muttered, scrubbing his scalp more vigorously than was probably necessary.

"Is it over yet?" he asked with an edge to his voice, scowling as he braced himself against the walls of the shower.

"Not quite." Karasuma turned off the water. "We still have to put the conditioner on it. I wouldn't want to leave your hair damaged."

Dante snorted, but endured the second application of cold liquid to his scalp. Halfway through the process, he became aware of another presence in the room and glanced toward the door through a spray of water to see Trish leaning against the doorjamb. Looking away, Dante hoped she would leave before it was all over; having his hair dyed was traumatic enough without dealing with the strange tension that had been building between them over the last day and a half.

They had not spoken to each other since the incident—not necessarily by intention, but because they had not had a moment to themselves with the flurry of preparations for leaving Japan. Dante suspected that she was avoiding him partially because she still didn't know how to explain herself, and he found a strange sort of apathy settling over him every time they passed by each other without speaking that he imagined was akin to depression. Vergil's taunts had not helped matters either, and if the little shit made one more aloof comment about how Dante seemed to be "having trouble pleasing his woman," Dante didn't know if he could keep himself from murdering him on the spot.

"Okay," Karasuma announced suddenly, turning off the water. "We're all done." She threw a dry towel over his head and he heard her pulling off her plastic gloves and tossing them in the trashcan. "Careful," she murmured to Trish as she walked out the door. "He's cranky."

Rubbing the towel over his hair with a sour smile, Dante straightened slowly, his eyes focused on the white tile floor. Trish took a step inside the room and he heard the door close behind her with a click. Curiosity getting the better of him, his eyes darted up to her sharply. She was wearing stylishly torn blue jeans, a rather tight yellow t-shirt with a monkey on it that said in bold black type, "A gibbons friend is a banana," and her blond hair was hidden inside a rainbow doo-rag; she was obviously already in costume for their trip to the airport.

Leaning back against the wall without removing the towel from his head, Dante continued to watch her silently. He had no desire to speak first; if she had something to say then he would listen, but he knew anything he said at the moment would only come across as petty.

Unsurprisingly, she delayed the inevitable as long as possible, crossing the small room silently and reaching up to pull the towel off his head with a wry twist to her lips. He allowed her to arrange his hair, glancing at the dark strands that fell across his vision with a scowl and leaning into her touch in spite of himself. Karasuma had recently been touching him a similar manner, yet the sensation had done nothing to distract him from his annoyance. Trish's touch, on the other hand, sent tiny shivers down his spine.

"It's not that bad," she said quietly, biting her lower lip and tilting her head as she inspected him.

Dante didn't reply, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror and cringing at the reflection he saw there, dark brown hair hanging limply about his face.

"Dante." The gravity in her voice made his muscles tense. "About what happened," she began slowly, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I just panicked for some reason. You didn't do anything wrong…I've just been on edge ever since I ended up in the demon world and I guess it was just too much too soon."

She was lying. He had no doubt that every word coming out of her mouth was a lie, and the fact that she still couldn't tell him the truth was enough to make the rage that had been steadily building inside of him since his brother walked through the gate burn a little brighter. His heart was thudding in his chest and he felt himself disconnect from his emotions, apathy tempering his anger just enough that he feared what he might do.

"Fine," he said coldly, giving her a firm push backwards so he could pass by her on his way to the door. He needed to get away from her before he said or did something he would regret; he knew that she didn't deserve it, but she was tempting his anger at the moment and his patience was wearing dangerously thin. "When you're actually ready to tell me the truth, then we'll talk, okay? Until then, I'm not interested." He was being an asshole and he knew it, but he couldn't help her if she wouldn't even talk to him.

"Dante!" she cried, but he didn't stop, opening the door and walking out into the room beyond. He stopped when he found himself face to face with Amon.

Amon glanced over his shoulder into the bathroom before looking back at Dante, his eyes wandering over his dark hair for a moment distractedly. Finally, he said, "We're ready to go. Everyone's waiting in the lobby."

Dante nodded and reached for his shirt where he had thrown it on the bed. Amon had told him the day before that he didn't intend to go with them to Europe; the announcement had shocked the hell out of Dante, but the determination in the man's eyes had convinced him that it was no joke. The fact that Robin had fully supported his decision had shocked him even more, especially when she revealed that her memories had finally returned to her.

Amon had only told him as much as he had to and Dante had no clue what could have been important enough that he would leave Robin's side to do it when the fate of the world was hanging in the balance. When he had asked, Amon had only said that if he failed to protect whatever it was he was running off to protect then it wouldn't matter if the whole world went to hell because he would have already failed. Dante had been unable to argue with him, but he hadn't exactly appreciated the man's lectures as to how he was to protect Robin in his absence. He didn't know when Amon had hired him as Robin's babysitter, but he knew that he sure as hell wasn't paying him enough.

Walking out the door ahead of them, Dante tried not to notice the glance Amon exchanged with Trish or the way her eyes glowed wetly in the light. His hands clenching into fists, he stalked down the hallway and hoped that they would find Lucifer soon. He was more than ready for a fight.

----------

"It looks like we've barely moved at all," Karasuma sighed, watching the plane icon on the map turn slightly in it's progress toward Europe. They had already made it through the first in-flight movie, and the screen was now showing their flight path as well as their time to their destination, altitude and various other statistics Karasuma would really rather not think about. She hated flying.

It didn't help that her nerves were still raw from all the tension leading up to their departure. Amon had parted ways with them in Tokyo, and she suspected that whatever he was heading off to take care of had something to do with the strange phone call she had received at the STN-J from his half-brother. Surprisingly, both Robin and Dante had supported his decision and she hadn't had the heart to try talking him out of leaving when even they had accepted it.

Concerned that Solomon would attempt to ambush them at the airport before they could leave, they had gone to great lengths to disguise themselves. Karasuma and Michael had arrived together, playing the part of a mother and son—their disguises had been minimal since they had the least striking characteristics. Trish had played the role of a rebellious American tourist and Robin had obscured her features with a head wrap and an Indian sari, wearing a thick layer of makeup to make her creamy skin a darker tan. Dante's brown hair and five o'clock shadow had transformed him quite completely, but it was Vergil's disguise that brought a smile to her lips every time she looked at him.

He had protested that he didn't need a disguise at all since no one even knew he was involved with them, but he had finally relented when they pointed out that his characteristics stood out in a crowd and he could easily be mistaken for Dante. Still, he had grumbled and refused to change his hair color, so they had to find another way to hide his unnaturally pale hair. In the end they had found a black cowboy hat and some wranglers and boots to complete the look; he looked surprisingly handsome in the western clothing, and the permanent frown on his lips only enhanced his image of a cowboy.

They had made it through airport security and customs without incident and Karasuma had been tempted to let down her guard. Still, she had been jumpy during the first few hours of the flight, constantly looking around for suspicious faces or anyone who was looking at any of them with a little too much interest. Slowly she had relaxed, unable to maintain her heightened state when the boredom of the long flight settled in, and she found herself drifting in and out of consciousness.

The plane was half empty since they had chosen a flight at such an unusual time, and the flight attendants had encouraged them to take advantage of all the extra seats. Vergil had taken three seats to himself next to a window, slouched back in his seat with his cowboy hat tipped down over his face and Michael had found a similarly secluded spot across the aisle from him. Trish and Karasuma had taken seats next to each other in the center section, an empty seat between Karasuma and Dante, and Robin sat alone near the window across the aisle from Dante. While Karasuma had initially been surprised that Trish had chosen to keep Karasuma between her and Dante, she realized that it shouldn't have been such a shock after the way they had been avoiding each other lately.

Everyone had been busy with their plans to leave the country and the long list of things to do and stress involved in attempting to cover their tracks at every turn had allowed for little time for interaction once they had started the process. Still, Dante and Trish had been decidedly cold to each other, keeping their distance and managing to never work together on any task. Karasuma knew that they had had an argument at one point since being reunited, but she couldn't believe that they still hadn't made up.

"Can I get you some more wine?" the flight attendant asked Trish softly, and Trish eagerly nodded. She had been drinking quite a bit of alcohol during the flight already, and Karasuma couldn't help thinking about the warnings she had heard about drinking at high altitudes. Still, Trish didn't seem to be terribly affected by the wine.

"Would you like anything, ma'am?" the attendant asked Karasuma.

"No, thanks."

Taking a gulp of wine, Trish rested her head back against the seat with a frown. "This has been too easy so far," she murmured, looking at Karasuma.

"I can't agree with you more. It makes me nervous."

Karasuma caught Trish's gaze shifting past her to the flight attendant that had just reached Dante's seat. "Can I get you another pillow, sir?" the woman asked with eagerness in her voice that made Karasuma shake her head. Despite his complaints, it didn't matter what color Dante's hair was; he still drew the attention of every female in close proximity.

Slumped in his seat, Dante opened his eyes a crack and smirked at her. "No, thanks." Karasuma was surprised that he didn't make some kind of obnoxious comment or hit on her, but Dante had not been his usual wisecracking self lately.

His lack of encouragement didn't seem to slow the woman down, though, as she placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and said darkly, "Let me know if you need anything."

Sensing Trish bristling beside her, Karasuma decided to give her a chance to actually do something about her emotions, hoping that the tension would abate a little bit. She was getting tired of feeling trapped between the two of them. "I'm going to get up and stretch my legs for a little while," Karasuma announced, smiling sweetly at Trish.

Trish blinked at her as if she hadn't been paying attention and had no idea what she had said, but she got out of her seat and let Karasuma by anyway. Glancing back, Karasuma saw Trish gazing somberly at Dante and sighed. They had more than enough obstacles in their way without soap opera dramas as well.

------------

The seat felt uncomfortable and Trish felt restless. With Karasuma gone, she had nothing to block her line of sight and her eyes kept drifting over to him the moment she let her mind wander. She didn't know what to do. He wanted answers from her and she couldn't blame him for wanting them. But she couldn't tell him here—hadn't had the nerve to tell him in the one chance she had gotten to talk to him alone. She needed to be close to him, needed to show him how much she needed him, but she was afraid of only making things worse.

She hesitated and sighed as she glared at Vergil—though at this point she was the one creating the problem, not him. Finally mustering her courage, she rose out of her seat and made the precarious journey across the adjoining seats until she could settle into the seat next to Dante. His arm was slung across the seat and she had to lift it in order to sit down, cautiously cradling it against her and waiting for him to pull out of her grasp.

He was looking down at her through slitted eyes, his expression impossible to read, but he did not otherwise react to her presence. She slid her fingers down over his palm and intertwined their fingers without breaking eye contact. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest as if this was the first time they had ever touched, though it was really fear driving her pulse. He had every right to push her away, but she was desperately hoping he wouldn't.

Shifting against the seat, he pulled his arm away from her and she felt as if she were crumbling inside. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she started to stand up. She should have known better than to push things with him right now.

But he caught her before she could move, sitting forward in his seat and lifting the armrest between them as he wrapped the arm he had pulled out of reach around her shoulders. She relaxed somewhat when she realized that he hadn't been pushing her away at all, melting into his warmth as he pulled her against him.

"Dante. I…" she whispered haltingly, one hand brushing lightly over his leg.

He trapped her hand beneath his own and interrupted her gently. "Don't. I don't want to argue. Whatever happened, we don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

Emotion choking her throat, she turned her hand over and squeezed his hand as she breathed, "I love you."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head, and she didn't need him to say the words to know his feelings were the same.

-------

_Sound was slowed down, gunshots echoing like the rumble of a timpani and she was running, her feet barely hitting the ground as she raced down the corridor through a tunnel of blurred light and sound. She couldn't run fast enough, the exit blaring sunlight through glass doors so far out of reach. A hand grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her behind a cement pillar. _

_Dante stood beside her, his breath loud in her ear as he sheltered her within his arms, the ground shaking beneath their feet. "We knew this would happen sooner or later," Trish cried from behind her as she pulled a pair of guns from the suitcase they had been dragging behind them and handed one of them to Dante. Robin could just make out the shapes of Michael, Karasuma and Vergil taking shelter within an alcove not far from them. _

_Screams reverberated through the space as people went running every direction, fleeing the Solomon agents wreaking havoc through the airport with otherworldly powers. Dante turned and began firing warning shots back at their pursuers to slow them down. _

"_We have to get outside," Robin yelled at him, watching men and women and children run by and unable to stand the fact that they were in danger because of her. _

_He grunted as a projectile hit his shoulder but nodded in acknowledgment as he ducked back behind the column, his features twisted in pain. _

_They were running again and she glanced back once to see Vergil covering their escape, his katana flashing through the fog created by one of the Solomon hunters as he disposed of the closest of their pursuers. Dante tugged at her arm and she stumbled to keep up with him as they burst through the doors and into the sunlight. Pulling out of his grip as soon as they were outside, she turned back toward the building and reached for her craft. Before she could focus, the glass doors exploded outward and shrapnel went flying through the air. It melted before it touched her and she leapt out of the way when Vergil tumbled through the opening where she had been standing a moment before, his clothing ripped and spotted with patches of brilliant red. Turning her attention back to the shadowy figures still approaching, she murmured an incantation and watched as a wall flame erupted between them and the hunters, feeling the fire burn through flesh and cement alike as if it were an extension of her. _

_Vergil gaped up at her in uncertainty, icy blue eyes narrowed. More gunshots rang out and she turned to see a blockade of Solomon agents dressed in black suits preventing their escape. Momentarily stunned, she stared at them for a moment too long and didn't have time to create a shield before bullets were ripping through the air toward her. She heard Dante scream her name, but he was too far away to protect her._

Robin awoke with a start, her heart racing in her chest. She was still on the plane and they were still safe. Gasping for breath, she tried to calm herself down, blinking tears out of her eyes. She hadn't slept much during the flight, but every time she did drift off, she experienced the same nightmare. Though she had initially written it off as her worries manifesting themselves, the dream was always the same, and each time it became clearer and more detailed. She was beginning to wonder if it was more than a dream.

"You okay, babe?" Dante asked quietly, his brows creased in concern.

Turning to him, Robin nodded. "I was dreaming."

"They're getting ready to land. You should buckle up."

Robin nodded again, reaching for her seatbelt and feeling her pulse pick up speed again. "Dante," she murmured, "I have a bad feeling. Like we're walking into a trap."

"Because of your dream?"

"I think it was more than a dream." She met his eyes and tried to communicate how serious she was.

He seemed to understand and believe her. "Is there anything I should know about it?"

She described the dream to him as the plane landed and he listened silently to her explanation. When she was finished and the plane was taxiing toward the gate, he said solemnly, "Stay close to me. Okay?"

They disembarked and made it through immigration without incident, but Robin still felt tense, her gaze darting around anxiously as they waited for their luggage. They had collected the last bag and were crossing a wide platform toward a row of escalators when she sensed it—whispers in her head, distant chanting murmured so softly that the sound of the crowd covered it easily.

She snatched at Dante's hand, but did not look up at him, concentrating on the voices she could hear faintly in her mind. "They're following us," she hissed.

Obviously overhearing her warning, Vergil leaned toward Dante and said, "We should split into two groups and give them multiple targets."

Dante met his gaze for a moment, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he nodded silently and Vergil tapped on Michael's and Karasuma's shoulders. "Come with me," he ordered, and they glanced at Dante who acknowledged the order. Mixing into the crowd, they took separate escalators down to the ground floor, Dante glancing back over his shoulder warily.

"They could be anywhere," he said softly. Pushing past the innocent bystanders milling around the bottom of the escalators, he asked, "Would Solomon really be willing to attack us in such a public place?"

Robin shook her head. "I don't know, but I can feel the power in the air. Can't you?"

The floor began to tremble beneath their feet, faintly at first as if it were merely distant thunder, but Robin knew that it was the first sign of danger. "Run," Dante ordered, gripping her hand tightly and nudging Trish ahead of them. The hairs on the back of Robin's neck stood on end and she felt the floor buckling behind them. Screams erupted, echoing shrilly through the lofty space as they darted through the panicking throng toward the exit.

Déjà vu washed over Robin as she ran and she tried to remember what had happened next in her dream. "There!" she cried, tugging Dante toward a cement pillar ahead of them. He followed her lead and they dove behind the pillar a moment before an explosion ignited the air and an intense wave of heat rolled by, the structure trembling ominously around them.

Dante cursed. "These bastards mean business."

"We knew this would happen sooner or later," Trish replied, handing him a gun and pocketing the rest of the ammo in the suitcase before she kicked it aside, hefting a gun of her own.

Robin clung to Dante as another explosion shook the ground, followed by a barrage of projectiles. She thought about how her dream had ended and trembled when he pulled away to return the fire. How could she change the ending? Peering past the people running by, she found Vergil and the others in their alcove and noticed a thick fog already gathering on the ground around their feet. They needed to get outside, but they needed to exit the building somewhere else.

"We need to keep moving," Dante panted, clutching at his shoulder to staunch the bleeding where the shrapnel had just hit him.

Trish gestured toward the doors ahead of them. "Let's go."

Robin could do nothing but follow them as they began running again, the fog thickening as they ran. She heard Vergil draw his sword behind them and saw Michael and Karasuma catch up, but she still didn't know what to do. She knew she shouldn't hesitate when they pushed through the doors, but she also knew she couldn't let the hunters catch up to them. Dante lead her toward the place where they had sheltered in her dream and put a hand on her head to make her duck under the gunfire from the agents waiting outside.

The doors exploded behind her and Dante pushed her ahead of him, shielding her with his body as shards of glass flew through the air like bullets. Pushing him aside desperately, she watched as Vergil landed on the sidewalk outside the door and rolled to his feet, blood dripping down one side of his face. Before he could move, the agents fired, and Dante tried to hold her back as she pushed past him toward where Vergil was wavering on his feet, blood blossoming from dozens of wounds all over his body. She could see the shapes of the hunters inside the building catching up and feel them raising power for one last assault.

"Robin!" Dante screamed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She shielded herself with an aura of flame as she ran back toward the building, expanding her shield to surround Vergil as well as he leaned on his sword and struggled to regain his bearings. If he had been human he would have been a casualty already. Focusing on their pursuers inside, she created the wall of fire she remembered making in her dream, grasping Vergil's arm when she was finished to pull him with her as she heard the sound of more gunshots.

To her horror, she saw that her shield was failing to block all of the bullets and she flinched when several broke through and picked up speed again, barreling toward her. She froze as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop them, wishing that she had been a little more careful. A moment later, the sound of metal whizzing through the air made her open her eyes again. Vergil was standing between her and the shooters, spinning his sword in a tight circle and shredding the bullets before they could reach them. The barrage paused and he turned toward her, grasping her around the waist and literally lifting her off her feet as he raced across the pavement to where Dante and the others were waiting.

"This way!" Robin cried, when she heard a vehicle squealing to a stop in the circle drive on the other side of the wall. In one iteration of her dream, she remembered the Land Rover and recalled that it had represented safety. Pulling Vergil with her as she raced toward the vehicle she didn't have time to see if the others were following.

At that moment the passenger door of the Land Rover opened to reveal Sakaki of all people, confirming her instincts. "Hurry!" he screamed at them. "Get in!" Moments later, they were all piled into the vehicle, and the doors slammed shut as more gunshots echoed after them.

"Hold on!" Doujima ordered from the driver's seat as she slammed on the gas as soon as they were all inside, tires squealing as she pealed out onto the road.

Arranging themselves in the surprisingly spacious vehicle, Dante took a seat in the back next to Trish, telling everyone in the middle seat to keep their heads down. "They're following us," he growled. "Do you know where you're going?"

"Sure I do!" Doujima cried, taking a corner at a breakneck speed. "I'm going away from them."

The middle seat was crowded, Robin practically sitting on Vergil's lap with Karasuma and Michael squeezed next to them on the seat. "I might be able to stop them with my craft," Robin said, trying to disentangle herself from Vergil's cool grip on her waist. He released her abruptly when he noticed her struggling, but was forced to catch her again when they rounded another corner and she nearly went flying toward the windshield.

"Keep your head down, Robin," Dante ordered despite her protests. He handed his brother a gun and asked, "The windows back here don't open. Do you think you could stand to use one of these long enough to roll down your window and pick off a few of them?"

His lip curled in distaste, Vergil took the gun from him and turned toward the window, one of his arms still holding firmly onto Robin. Trish had already moved up to the window on the other side and together they managed to send several of the vehicles off the road behind them.

"We've got a problem," Doujima announced suddenly and Robin looked up to see three cars pull out onto the road ahead of them, blocking the way. Focusing her craft, Robin sent darts of flame toward the vehicles and squinted as they exploded in a blinding flash of light. The Land Rover veered off the road and nearly flipped as Doujima attempted to regain control, swerving over rough grassland.

Several heart stopping moments later, they were back on the road and gaining speed, their pursuers lost in the blaze behind them. Exhausted, Robin fell back against Vergil, her head resting against Karasuma's shoulder as she gave into the fatigue washing over her.

----------

Michael gazed blankly out the window at the passing countryside, unable to even form a complete thought in the wake of their chaotic escape from the airport. He felt like he had been completely useless in their flight, no more helpful to the others than the luggage they had been forced to drag along with them.

"What are you two doing here?" Karasuma asked when they had all caught their breath, voicing the one question all of them had been wondering.

"We knew Solomon was after you," Sakaki replied, turning in his seat. "So we came to help."

"You could have just warned us," Karasuma commented with concern in her eyes. "You didn't need to jump into the danger yourselves."

"Actually, we couldn't warn you. Solomon was monitoring your communications." Doujima replied. "They put a tap on Michael's computer before you left and chips in your cell phones."

Michael's eyes widened and his heart sunk. He had no idea his computer had been hacked. He should have known—should have at least checked to make sure before he used it too book their flights. It didn't matter how careful he had been on the Internet if his computer was already tapped. Scrubbing a hand through his short hair, Michael groaned softly in frustration.

"It's not your fault," Karasuma reassured him, patting his shoulder gently. "We should have all been more careful."

"Anyway," Doujima continued, "as soon as we found out what Solomon was planning we decided to show up here ahead of you and provide your escape vehicle."

"That was brave of you, but foolish," Karasuma said, shaking her head. "What if they had found out?"

"Well, they didn't," Sakaki protested. "Besides, I think I would have gone nuts at the SNT-J if I had to stay there one more day. It was dead boring."

Dante laughed softly. "Either way, I'm glad you were there. I don't know if we could have found a vehicle to commandeer in time to get away otherwise."

"So, where are we going now?" Doujima asked.

Reaching for his messenger bag, Michael pulled out the map they had marked up with their route and handed it to Sakaki. At least he could be useful for something. "Whew," Sakaki said as he looked at the map. "That's pretty remote. Looks like we've got a long way to go."

Glancing over at Robin as he sat back in the seat, Michael noted that she was practically unconscious, her slight form half draped over Vergil and her head tucked against Karasuma's shoulder. Vergil held her dispassionately, as if he were holding a sack of laundry and not a person, and Michael felt annoyance flare inside of him that he should be so close to Robin and not even care.

Dante also seemed worried about her because he leaned forward in his seat and looked down at her, brushing hair away from her face. She stirred slightly and looked up at him with sleepy green eyes. "You okay, kid?"

"Just tired," she murmured, her eyes drifting quickly shut again.

Dante nodded, his features darkening as he glared silently over at Vergil. His brother merely regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a bland expression. He opened his mouth, but Vergil stopped him before he could issue a threat.

"Don't waste your breath," he said softly, rolling his eyes.

Sakaki leaned toward Michael and gestured toward the two of them, "What's with the double vision?" he asked.

"Dante's brother, Vergil," Michael answered with a shrug.

Sakaki nodded with a grin. "Cool." Cocking his head at them, he added, "Dante kind of looks like Leon S. Kennedy with his hair like that."

Smiling faintly, Michael agreed, "You think so too? At least we're not in Racoon City or Spain, though, right? I'd hate to run into a bunch of zombies."

"I don't know. You can never tell where you're going to run into people infected by the zombie virus or parasites. If you hear a chainsaw, run,"

Michael laughed, feeling some of the tension bleeding out of him. "Yeah, and you'd better watch out if you hear any monks chanting."

"Or see any creepy midgets with a lisp."

Starting to get a little too into the concept, Michael leaned forward in his seat. "We'd better be sure to pick up an infrared sight for all the guns as soon as we get there. We can't afford to run into any regenerators without the right equipment."

Scowling over at them, Doujima snapped, "What are you two babbling about? I thought you promised to lay off the video game references for a while, Sakaki."

"Ah, writhe in my cage of torment, my friend," Sakaki quoted, winking at Michael as he turned in his seat. Then, to distract Doujima before she made another complaint, he added, "Hey, let's turn on some tunes."

Attempting to frown at him but failing miserably, she said, "Okay, but we're playing one of my CDs, not your video game crap."

"Fine."

Settling back into his seat and trying to get comfortable, Michael listened to the music and realized he already felt a lot better.

------------

Vergil dozed with his head against the icy window, the insubstantial warmth of the girl's body draped over him like a fragile blanket. They had been driving half the night, eager to put as many miles between them and the ambush as they could. Soft music covered the monotonous hum of the road beneath the tires, though Vergil couldn't make out the words of the haunting refrain as it floated through the air.

Karasuma had offered to take a shift behind the wheel when they stopped briefly for gas, and to Vergil's surprise the girl who had been wedged halfway between them had turned toward him in her sleep when Karasuma left and rested her head against his chest. Vergil hadn't moved despite the fleeting opportunity to stretch—not because he was concerned about waking her up, but because he was enjoying the uneasiness in his brother's eyes when he looked at the girl curled up against him.

Dante had actually gone so far as to take Karasuma's place beside him when they stopped, the young woman who had been driving taking his seat in the back next to Trish. The two women immediately launched into a conversation, chattering loudly as they caught each other up on their recent activities. Michael was dozing in the seat beside Dante and Karasuma was chatting with her copilot as she drove, everyone so wrapped up in their conversations that they didn't seem to notice the electric tension between Vergil and his brother.

"You seem to be almost enjoying this," Dante accused softly, regarding him from beneath a jagged wedge of brown hair.

Vergil had been having a hard time keeping his eyes off Dante's unnerving hair since the moment he first saw it; he had often considered what it would be like if he and Dante didn't resemble each other so strongly, if his antithesis—the other half of his soul—had not been his mirror image. He had considered it and wondered how he would feel if he could look at Dante and see a completely separate individual instead of a reflection of himself. Would it make it easier for him to accept that despite their looks they were nothing alike? Now that he had the opportunity to test it—at least in part—he found that it didn't create the reaction he had expected. It didn't make anything easier.

"Hardly," Vergil replied finally. "She's attached herself to me like an appendage and I fear I might lose a limb if I tried to disentangle myself from her."

Scowling, Dante said, " She's probably only clinging to you now because she's managed to mistake you for Amon in her sleep. Guess one cold-hearted bastard's as good as another."

Vergil raised a brow; so his assessment of her longing look at Amon in the hotel room was more accurate than he had thought. Taking note of the odd relationship, Vergil filed the information away for later use. Looking down at the peacefully sleeping girl pensively, he commented, "I imagine she overextended herself back at the airport, and her body has shut down in an attempt to replenish her strength. She was foolish to push herself so far beyond her limit."

Dante shook his head, dark strands shivering against his face. "She was protecting you at the time, as I recall."

"Am I supposed to be grateful? I hardly needed her protection."

"Yeah? Well, Robin thought you did, and she has a selfless streak a mile wide. Frankly, I would have let you bleed to death."

A bitter smile twisted Vergil's lips and he shifted his attention to the window and the town they were currently speeding through. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Do you?" Though still soft, Dante's voice was dark, shaded with hatred and Vergil closed his eyes as he drank it in. "Guess you're not as clever as I thought."

"No. I simply know you better than you know yourself."

"Want to test that theory?" Dante growled, leaning close enough that Vergil could feel his breath against his neck. Vergil found it difficult to repress the shiver that threatened to race down his spine.

"We're in a car full of people, Dante. I hardly think this is the place for threats." Glancing back at him without moving his head, he added, "Besides, you wouldn't want to injure your sweet Robin trying to get to me, now would you?"

Dante's anger seemed to be visibly rising off his skin. "You'd use her as a shield?"

Smiling smugly, Vergil replied, "I never said anything of the kind. You have a tendency to be clumsy. That's all."

Dante looked away with effort, his jaw clenching.

"You've become attached to her," Vergil commented, surprised to hear himself voice the observation. He realized too late that he was practically admitting his irrational jealousy that Dante was focusing his natural sibling protectiveness on such an unlikely candidate.

Glancing at him with one side of his mouth hitched upward in amusement, Dante replied quietly, "There's something about her that makes you want to protect her." Fondness softened the harsh lines of his features as he looked down at Robin, and Vergil felt his jealousy sharpen.

"Then I certainly hope you've managed to grow stronger as I advised you at Temen-ni-gru. Otherwise—"

"'I can't protect anyone, let alone myself,'" Dante finished for him impatiently. "I remember what you said." Vergil felt oddly gratified that Dante remembered their conversation from so long ago with such clarity; it reassured him that he still held some sway over his brother. "But as I recall, the last time we met you were the one having trouble taking care of yourself."

The shard of memory that had returned to him in a dream confirmed Dante's words, and Vergil couldn't think of a way to turn them to his advantage—the emotions were still too raw.

Robin stirred slightly in her sleep as if she was sensing the tension between them, and Dante watched her carefully. "I can take her if you're tired of holding her," he offered casually, though the unspoken threat was obvious behind his words.

"There's no reason to disturb her," Vergil said blandly. "I don't mind."

Dante looked at him with suspicion in his eyes, but the aim of the look was lost on Vergil as he found himself mesmerized by the way the streetlights made Dante's blue eyes glow with ethereal light. "That's weird. You usually mind everything."

The temptation to play with Dante was too great to ignore. Smiling faintly, Vergil replied, "Then perhaps there's some truth to what you said before and she's worked her magic on me as well."

A scowl immediately darkened Dante's features. "Bullshit."

Before Vergil could respond, Dante's leg began to vibrate. Vergil glanced down at it with a raised brow when a moment later a strange melody began blaring from his pants. Sighing, Dante shoved a hand into his pocket and retrieved an electronic device Vergil recognized as a phone. He was still a little startled by the way technology in the human world had changed since the last time he was in it. The phone Dante was flipping open and pressing to his ear with a curt greeting was smaller than a deck of cards.

Dante's expression soured even further as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. "Yeah, it's real great to hear your voice too," he said sarcastically. "No. I know. But she's fine. Yeah, some things blew up and Solomon tried to chase us all over the country, but we lost them. Yes, I'm sure." He glanced briefly at Robin exasperation on his features. "She's resting right now. You can talk to her later." Sighing shortly, he snapped, "I'm not being evasive. She's just asleep."

Vergil listened to the conversation in wonder; he had never heard his brother be so submissive to someone else before, and judging by what little he could pick up from Dante's comments, he was talking to Amon. How the human had managed to all but tame Dante was beyond Vergil, but he found that the very idea made him insatiably curious.

Finally, Dante handed the phone off to Michael, saying Amon had some questions for him.

"Have you sworn your loyalty to that human?" Vergil asked when Dante had returned to scowling silently at the road ahead.

Dante shook his head briefly. "I promised I'd take care of his girlfriend. That's all."

Considering this, Vergil glanced down at the girl in his lap and decided that Dante was far too generous for his own good. If he continued to add humans to the list of people he had sworn to protect, eventually he would be unable to protect any of them sufficiently. And he would be devastated. This was a self-destructive pattern for Dante; he would continue to fight against impossible odds, and most of the time he would be able to scrape by through pure tenacity, but eventually he would make a fatal mistake, and by that point he would be too late to save himself.

"What are you thinking?" Dante murmured, watching him with hatred sparking in his eyes. "You have another lecture prepared for me on the topic of learning to take care of number one before trying to protect anyone else?"

"It's disgraceful for a demon to serve a human," Vergil replied succinctly, deciding not to waste any more of his warnings on Dante when he refused to hear them.

"Disgraceful, huh?" Dante chuckled bitterly. "You should know about something like that better than anyone."

Closing his eyes, Vergil accepted the cutting remark silently and rested his head against the window again, trying to clear his mind. While talking in circles with Dante was an occasionally amusing pursuit, it was also wearying.

"What? Are you giving up so soon?" Dante goaded him when he failed to respond. "I thought verbal sparring was one of your favorite things."

"Enjoy your meaningless victory while you can, Dante," Vergil muttered without moving.

Dante was either too startled to respond or had actually scrapped together enough wisdom to realize Vergil was no longer in the mood for argument. Either way, Vergil enjoyed the silence.

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope everyone found a little something to enjoy in this chapter. I know there was a serious absence of Amon, but it was pretty unavoidable. He'll be back before you know it though! **

**I especially liked writing the part at the beginning about Karasuma dying Dante's hair. My friends and I have taken to referring to Karasuma as "mom." I have a feeling I'll be writing a scene before too long in which she yells at Dante and Vergil and threatens to put them in time out or something if they don't start behaving. :)**

**I wanted to thank everyone who voted for Libera Me in the UFO awards. I won second in the WHR category and Member's Choice for that category as well. I really appreciate your support! Also, I wanted to mention that I'm posting a new story in the Devil May Cry category. I have gotten a number of requests for a separate Dante x Trish story and my frustration over the new DMC game coming out and the failings of the anime have finally inspired me to write something. You can check it out by following my profile link above and looking in the list of stories there. It's called "Stay."**


	12. Haunted

**Author's Note: Thanksgiving means being thankful that I finally got off my ass and updated. I'm including myself in that. I was feeling rather stuck on this chapter because there were some major plot points that I had to decide on before I could write it. We're entering the last major arc of the story now, and I didn't want to write myself into a plot hole. Hopefully I haven't. :)**

**One last disclaimer: this chapter might make your head explode at the end. I apologize in advance. And I promise it will eventually make sense.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**Haunted**

It seemed to Karasuma as if they were traveling through a cloud. Milky whorls of dense fog had been swirling outside the windows ever since they came within a mile of their destination. The region was rather mountainous, and she knew that misty mountaintops were more than just a cliché, but the obscuring fog still struck her as a bad sign. Similar fog had surrounded the area where Beatrice opened her gateway into the underworld, after all, and they had encountered no other fog in their trip until this point. Perhaps she was simply being paranoid, but at this point, she couldn't think of a good reason not to be.

"What's my next turn?" she asked Michael who was still struggling to tame the awkwardly folded map he had stitched together from computer printouts.

He attempted to fold a no longer necessary part of the map out of the way, but the paper fought him at every turn. The fact that he was sandwiched between Sakaki and Vergil and Robin on the middle seat didn't help his efforts any either since he was going to great lengths to avoid disturbing Robin's slumber and consequently kept inadvertently elbowing Sakaki instead. Sakaki, in turn, howled dramatically at every slight. "Right on the next street…I think," he replied finally with less certainty than she would have liked to hear.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" she asked Dante. She had asked him to ride up front with her when they got close to their destination because she had hoped he could help her navigate, but he was doing a dismally disappointing job of it so far.

"Maybe. But what difference does that make anyway?" he grumbled irritably. "I don't know anything about this place where you made reservations, so why would I know how to find it?"

Taking a deep breath and trying to hold on to her fraying patience, she replied with forced calm, "I thought that maybe you could figure something out from the street address. Besides that, the website said this hotel is converted from some sort of historical house, so it's very likely it was around when you lived here."

"That was a long time ago."

Dante frowned severely out the window and she marveled--not for this first time during the trip--at his acerbic demeanor. She had concluded from their closeness during the last half of the flight that he and Trish had made up finally, but judging from his continuous sour expressions and the distant look in his eyes he still had plenty to angst about. She imagined that Vergil's presence had quite a bit to do with his mood, and the clearly unpleasant memories that returning to his hometown had unearthed were not helping either. Still, it was dispiriting to see his normally irrepressible personality so subdued.

"What's the name of hotel again?" Sakaki asked.

"The Monarch," Michael replied. "And according to local lore, it's haunted."

"That's just superstition," Karasuma countered quickly. "It had a high rating on Trip Advisor and none of the reviews mentioned anything about ghosts. Besides that, it was the only place I could find rooms for all of us, so we're just going to have to live with it."

"I hope Solomon's not there waiting for us," Doujima said from the back seat with a sigh. "They could have intercepted you making reservations."

"We'll just have to see."

The road snaked through a thick grove of trees and past an ancient, gothic church, stone spires swallowed by the thick fog less than halfway up and stained glass lit only dimly from within. She glanced at Dante, thinking that surely this was a landmark he could not have forgotten, but she regretted looking at him when saw the deep scowl twisting his features.

"We should be getting close," Michael announced above the rattle of his unwieldy papers.

Slowly, the shadowy bulk of a large structure began to materialize on the murky horizon and Karasuma slowed when she saw the wooden sign swaying slightly in a breeze next to a paved drive. The words were painted in gold and black and a stylized butterfly was perched on the curve of the "h" in Monarch, the double meaning of the word emphasized by the outline of a crown bordering the sign.

"I guess this is it," Karasuma said, turning into the drive and following it as it arced up the hill toward the monstrous house. The structure was still little more than a nebulous shadow when she sensed Dante stiffen beside her.

"Stop the car," he hissed with such command in his voice that she obeyed without thinking.

"What's wrong?"

Doujima leaned forward in her seat. "Is Solomon here waiting for us?" Doujima asked anxiously.

"If they are, I certainly can't see them," Sakaki commented, peering through the window on his side of the vehicle.

"Something's not right. Everyone stay in the car," Dante ordered, opening his door and dropping down to the pavement. Karasuma watched him with fear tightening her chest, shivering at the cool, moist air that slipped inside before he slammed the door behind him.

"What does he think he's doing?" Karasuma snapped, not even trying to repress her annoyance. Dante was not exactly the secretive type, but he had been irritatingly inscrutable lately and it was reminding her of a certain witch hunter they had left behind in Japan. Would it have killed him to explain himself?

To her surprise, Vergil was the one who answered her question. "This is not just any historical house," he said crisply, his voice icy calm. "This is our house—the house where Dante and I grew up."

"I thought you said your house had burned to the ground," Karasuma countered.

"It did," Vergil replied simply.

"Then how do you explain--"

"I can't," he interrupted with a sharp edge to his voice.

"Maybe someone rebuilt it," Michael offered uncertainly.

"Perhaps. But I am not going to simply sit here and wonder about it."

"Dante said—" Sakaki began awkwardly, but hesitated when Vergil turned an icy glare on him.

A cruel twist to his lips, Vergil said, "Dante's orders mean nothing to me. If you are content to follow them, then stay here as you long as you like, but I imagine that it will make little difference to anything dangerous out there whether you are inside this vehicle or not."

Karasuma considered his words, thinking about her frustration with Dante's unexpected overprotectiveness and wondering why Dante seemed to think they were incapable of taking care of themselves now anyway. They weren't just any civilians out for a Sunday drive. They made their living fighting dangerous beings.

She caught Trish's eye in the rear view mirror. "Trish? What do you think?"

Smiling wryly, Trish unhooked her seat belt. "If this place is a trap, then we're already in it, and if we're in danger, then cowering in here isn't going to keep us safe."

Vergil glanced at her with a raised eyebrow as if he hadn't expected her to agree with him.

Her mind made up, Karasuma threw the Land Rover into park. "That's good enough for me."

She looked back as she slid out of the car, watching Vergil attempt to deposit Robin on the seat so that he could make his way to the door. Despite his efforts, she continued to cling to him desperately in her sleep and refused to relinquish her hold when he tried to pull away. Half crouched in the minimal space between the seats, Vergil frowned fiercely and ungently tore her fingers away from his shirt. Robin awoke with a start, gazing up at him with wide green eyes as he pushed her back on the seat and turned toward the door without pausing.

Karasuma considered checking on Robin, but noticed that Michael had hung back as well and was already talking to her. Deciding they would be all right together, Karasuma turned her attention back to the house. Moisture clung to her skin as she walked through the fog, sending shivers down her spine as she watched the hulking mansion gain solidity before her with every step. The structure was imposing even aside from its supposed impossibility, grotesque gargoyles sneering down from the rooftop and thick stone walls carpeted with ivy framing tall, dark windows.

Dante was already standing at the front steps, his back turned to them and his hands clenched at his sides. His brother reached him first, and Dante seemed to sense his presence since he growled, "Is this why you suggested coming here?" Spinning on his heel, he leaned menacingly toward Vergil, his voice unnaturally gruff. "Were you leading us into a trap from the beginning?"

Not visibly concerned by the violence in Dante's eyes, Vergil glanced back at him casually. "Where's the trap? So far, I have yet to see any obvious signs of danger."

"You mean, aside from the huge fucking house behind me?"

Vergil shrugged. "It is an illusion. It has to be."

"Why would someone create an illusion if they didn't intend to use it as a trap?"

Tilting his head and regarding Dante serenely, Vergil replied. "I had no more idea what to expect here than you did. And this is far beyond what I could have expected. Perhaps it _is_ a trap, but even if it is, do you have any better ideas about where we should go next?"

While Dante was still considering his response, the front door swung open with a whine and an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch. "Oh my," she gasped, stopping short when she saw the twins on her doorstep. "Pardon me. I was just coming out to pick up the mail. Are you guests?"

"We have reservations," Karasuma explained quickly, stepping around the brothers and smiling kindly at the woman.

Her eyes still focused on Dante and Vergil with an expression that could have been awe, the woman shook herself slightly and took a step back into the house. "Are you Ms. Karasuma?" she asked as she turned to Karasuma with a dazed expression.

"Yes. I know we're a little later than I expected, but we got lost."

"Oh, not a problem. Please, come inside." The frail woman ushered them into the marble entryway with a pleasant smile dividing her creased and hollowed face. "Right this way and we'll finish up the paperwork so I can show you to your rooms." Her eyes drifted back toward Dante and Vergil and Karasuma couldn't decide whether she was more distracted by their good looks or their intense expressions. Either way, Karasuma was glad that they were managing to keep their mouths shut for the moment at least.

"Thank you," Karasuma said, graciously following after her.

Pausing beside the brothers, she murmured, "Whatever is going on here, I think we'll find out more by playing along for the moment than by arguing." She couldn't tell if they agreed with her or not, but she turned her back on them anyway, deciding they would do whatever they wanted in the end regardless.

-----------

Trish watched the grandmotherly woman make her way gingerly up the stairs to the next floor, Vergil following in her wake. Wondering briefly whether the owner of the Monarch would be safe in Vergil's company, Trish considered following them at a distance, but thought better of it. Surely even Vergil had some scruples.

When they were gone, Karasuma held up the keys Mrs. Schartz had given her. "Now we just need to decide how to divide up these rooms. She said that there are three doubles and a single."

"Robin and I can take one of the doubles," Doujima said quickly, snatching at a key with one hand while she wrapped her other arm around Robin's. "Right, Robin? It'll be like a slumber party." Robin blinked up at her uncertainly, but Doujima didn't seem overly concerned by her reaction.

"And Michael and I can take another double," Sakaki said, watching Doujima closely as he grabbed another key. "We can look up porn on the internet."

Doujima's eyes flashed angrily at him, but Karasuma jumped on his statement before Doujima could say a word. "That's disgusting, Sakaki," she said sharply. "At least I know Michael's better than that, aren't you Michael?"

Blushing fiercely, Michael nodded and turned away. "Let's go, Haruto. I bought some new video games before we left."

"Just remember," Karasuma called after them, "we're here for a reason. We're not on vacation."

Distracted by the melodrama, Trish almost forgot to be anxious until she realized that there were only two keys remaining. She glanced at Dante who was leaning back against the wall and staring at one of the doors with a distant expression. Though she knew what kind of arrangement he would prefer, she was not sure she was ready for it.

"That's my old room," Dante said quietly, nodding at the door across from him and Trish breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Karasuma held up a key. "That's the single."

"Then, I guess we're sharing, Karasuma." She tried to hide the eagerness in her voice, but she could feel Dante looking at her and knew he had heard it despite her attempt.

"Actually, I would rather be as far away from my old room as possible. Would you mind taking it?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't mind having a room to myself," Karasuma said with a smile, glancing uncertainly at Trish. "Here's the key to the other room."

Though Trish couldn't be sure that Karasuma had picked up on the tension in the air, it seemed that she must have realized Trish was less than pleased by the situation judging by the way she hurried off down the hallway to her room. Still, Trish imagined Karasuma thought she was doing a good thing by encouraging them to be together; she probably thought it would help them to work out whatever was bothering them.

Dante was staring down at the key in his hand. "You're not okay with this, are you?"

Plucking the key from his palm, she shoved it into the lock and opened the door. "It's fine," she said more stiffly than she had intended.

The room was elegantly decorated, though a few homey touches like the basket of fruit on the dresser and the paintings of butterflies adorning the walls helped to make it feel less formal. Still, her attention settled immediately on the large bed at the center of the room with discomfort, and part of her mourned the fact that a week ago she would have been looking at it eagerly.

"Trish," Dante said softly as he followed her through the door, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "I can talk to Karasuma if—"

"It's okay, Dante," she said sharply, taking a step away from him and shutting the door behind them. Dante never acted this uncertain, and it bothered her that she had made him so hesitant.

She could feel him still watching her closely, could feel his concern like a weight on her back. "Okay." He pulled their suitcases over to the dresser. "I think everyone is planning on getting a little sleep while we still can. We've already wasted half the day driving, anyway, and I don't think anyone got much rest on the trip."

Nodding, she looked at the bed again, telling herself she was being stupid. She had shared a bed with him more times than she could count. What was she afraid of? The question already had an answer, and she knew it though she didn't want to admit it. She was afraid of herself. Afraid she would react instinctively again and hurt him.

"You should rest," he said. "I want to investigate this place a little more."

She turned to him in surprise. "Dante..."

Avoiding her gaze, he said with a stilted smile, "I couldn't possibly sleep right now anyway."

He left the room before she could find a way to respond and she sat down on the edge of the bed with a strange ache choking her chest.

----------

To Vergil's relief, the interior of the house was not as disturbingly familiar as the exterior. Though it was arranged exactly the same way, the conversion into a bed and breakfast changed its complexion enough that he could ignore the similarity with enough effort. Nevertheless, every so often, he would encounter an artifact he recognized, a picture frame or a vase in the places he remembered them, though the paintings and flower arrangements had changed.

"Here it is, dear." The elderly woman who owned the Monarch stopped at a set of heavy mahogany doors Vergil recognized immediately, but he wasn't sure how he felt about sleeping in his parents' bedroom. Unlocking the door and pushing it open with a thin smile, the woman stepped aside so that he could enter the room. "This is the master bedroom. It's the best room in the house," she said proudly.

Vergil was having a hard time not showing his shock. The room was exactly as he remembered it; every detail from the golden tassels tied about the velvet curtains to the candelabra perched on the mantle was as it had been when he had last stood in the room. He knew it was impossible—just as the entire house was impossible. Some powerful magic was at work here, using his memories as inspiration and modifying whatever structure they were actually standing within to match.

"Have you ever visited this town before?" the woman asked quietly, offering him the key to the room.

Taking the key reluctantly, he countered, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, really. Just a lonely woman's overactive imagination, I suppose. I thought perhaps…but no. That would be impossible." She waved one frail hand dismissively and turned toward the door.

"What do you mean?" Vergil asked, curious in spite of himself.

She smiled wistfully, eyes crinkling as she focused on him again. "You just look like someone."

"Someone you know?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" Her laugh sounded like dry leaves crunching underfoot. "There's just an old portrait downstairs in my office. It came with the house when Roger and I bought it so long ago. You resemble the man in the painting."

"I see." Though Vergil knew that this was simply one more element to the illusion, it still bothered him. "I'd be interested in seeing it."

She nodded. "Come by the office later and I'll show you." Glancing around the room, she added, "I'm going back down to the front desk now. Let me know if you need anything."

Vergil turned slowly on his heel, surveying the room warily and trying not to look too closely at the plush bed at the center of the room. He wasn't sure how he had ended up with the largest room in the house, but he imagined he would be getting little sleep in it regardless. The thick carpet made hushed whispers beneath his boots as he crossed the room, his fingers grazing lightly over the carved wood post at the end of the bed.

The door snapped shut, and a smile tugged at his lips. He had been expecting Dante to track him down ever since they parted ways in the foyer; their argument outside the front door was still unfinished, after all. "Are you jealous that I got the best room in the house, brother?"

"This is the only room that suits you, Vergil. You have grown far beyond that quaint bedroom in the east wing."

Vergil started at the unexpected voice, turning sharply to face the pale figure standing just inside the room with one long-fingered hand resting against the door. "Lucifer," he breathed.

"You've done well, Vergil. For a short time, I actually believed you might betray me, but it seems you know better than to do something so foolish."

Looking away from the demon's fathomless eyes, Vergil squinted into the light pouring through the tall windows and tried to hide his apprehension. "Is that why you went to the trouble to create such an elaborate illusion? I brought my brother here as you requested. I imagine escape is no longer an option, so why continue the fantasy?"

Lucifer crossed the room slowly toward him, but the carpet did not make a sound beneath his feet. "You have done as I asked, Vergil, but that does not mean I trust you yet. I still require more proof before I will give you the place at my right hand. And the seal on my body has not been broken yet."

Vergil scowled. "You could lift the seal at any time. Why do you delay?"

Chuckling softly, Lucifer stopped beside him. "Surely you've realized by now that I require the living blood of Sparda to break the seal. Until you and Dante complete the ritual together willingly, the seal will remain unbreakable. There is no other way."

Vergil crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the bedpost. "So, we still need Dante. This illusion is for him, then. It will keep him off balance, and if he's off balance he will be easier to manipulate."

"Yes." Lucifer smiled faintly. "You already surmised as much before, did you not? That is why you made love to his woman…to destroy his sense of equilibrium." He leaned toward Vergil and traced one slender finger along his jaw. "Though I have to admit your boldness surprised me."

Repressing the shiver of revulsion building at the base of his spine, Vergil murmured, "Are you going to tell me where your body is sealed, or are you going to continue dragging this out?"

His smile widening, Lucifer took a step away. "I must admit that I am enjoying myself quite a bit. It has been a very long time since I've had any kind of diversion." Caressing the soft duvet spilling over the foot of the bed, he added, "And I can't help but wonder how long you will be able to continue denying your desires. It could be interesting to find out."

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's difficult to see the two of them together, isn't it?" Lucifer mused. "Perhaps that was the real reason you tried to create a division between them."

Ignoring Lucifer's implication as well as the anger building up within him, Vergil turned his back on the demon and approached the window. "Are you really willing to delay freeing your body any longer than is necessary? You can only survive so long in this world with your power halved as it is."

"I have all the time in the world," Lucifer answered mildly. "And your relationship with your brother intrigues me. No. I will let you discover where my body is hidden and how to free it on your own."

Vergil shook his head, his hand clenching on the smooth wood of the windowsill. "I don't understand why you would take such a senseless risk."

"I've already told you, Vergil. I'm testing you."

"To see whether I can withstand the temptation?" Vergil's anger burst out of the cage he had carefully constructed to keep it restrained. "I have lived my entire life with the temptation and never given into it. Is that not proof enough?"

An arrogant confidence shading his pale features, Lucifer said softly, "You forget. I am the tempter. My wish is for you to give in to your desires. Holding yourself back only makes you weak, and I refuse to keep such a weak servant at my side. If you will not claim what you want, then I may not have a use for you after I have regained my power."

Lost momentarily in the thrall of Lucifer's eyes, Vergil forced himself to look away through sheer force of will. "Taking what I want will only make tricking him into breaking the seal that much more difficult."

"Perhaps. But you have three more days to decide."

Vergil blinked in surprise. "Three days? I thought you had all the time in the world."

"I do." Lucifer blinked languidly at him. "But you do not."

Turning away, Vergil listened for the door to open, but it did not make a sound. Nevertheless, he knew he was alone again.

He was running out of choices—that was, if he had ever really had any choices in the first place. Pressing his forehead against the glass of the window, Vergil closed his eyes. Three days.

----------

Robin sat on the top step of the stairs leading down into a crumbling courtyard. Though most of the house seemed to be in relatively good repair, this courtyard had clearly been losing a battle against nature for a long time, stone railings and sculptures veined with cracks and slowly being strangled by vines. Even the fountain at the center of the space was beginning to disintegrate, the spray of water gushing weakly from a flower at the top that was missing half of its petals.

Clutching her cell phone, Robin punched in Amon's number again. She didn't need to raise the phone to her ear to hear it ringing. Staring at it fervently and waiting, she willed him to pick up this time. Again, it went to his voice mail, and again she hung up. She had already left him two messages. A third wouldn't make him call back any faster.

She could sense him only distantly, could feel that he was alive, but little more beyond that. It was more than she had been able to feel when he was in the underworld, but it was no less frustrating, especially since she now remembered all of the reasons why he was so important to her. While she wanted him to find his daughter—understood that he would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't—she was also afraid of how things would change if he did find her. Would he decide to take care of her himself now that her powers had awakened? Though Robin knew she was being selfish, she couldn't help wondering where she would fit in his life if that were the case.

Cupping the cell phone between her hands, Robin looked up at the sun sparkling through the tall pines on the horizon. It had painted the sky in brilliant ruddy hues that made the trees look as if they were on fire and she shook the mental image away, afraid that she might inadvertently make her vision a reality without meaning to. She was distracted and did not fully trust her own control at the moment.

The door creaked open behind her and she looked back over her shoulder, surprised to find Trish stepping out onto the veranda. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, hugging her arms to herself as a brisk breeze swept through the courtyard.

Robin shook her head and watched as Trish settled herself on the step beside her, noting the exhaustion written into the woman's features. Recalling the conversation she had had with her a few nights before and how tired she had seemed then, Robin wondered if she had been able to sleep at all since she returned to the human world.

Before she could say a word, Trish murmured, "Pretty sunset, isn't it?"

"Um…yes. It is."

"I guess you were probably wide awake after sleeping through the trip, weren't you?"

"Yes." Thinking about the trip reminded her of the way she had woken up, trying to burrow closer to the warmth and safety of the arms that had been holding her and thinking they had belonged to someone else entirely. Opening her eyes to find Vergil's cold expression only inches away had jarred her awake immediately.

"I tried to take a nap, but I couldn't sleep either. This place is unnerving." Trish shivered and drew her knees up to her chest.

"Something about it is strange," Robin said with a thoughtful nod. "It feels wrong, but not in the same way as the gate on Osorezan felt wrong. I can feel a strong source of power here, but either it is not as evil as the power I felt coming from the demon realm, or it is better concealed."

"I feel it too," Trish agreed. "And my gut says it has something to do with Lucifer. When the demon world and the human world intersect, time and space often react strangely."

"Do you think this really is Dante's old house?"

Trish hesitated. "I don't know. But even if it isn't, it's a good enough replica that it is almost the same thing."

"Being here is painful for him," Robin said without thinking. "It must bring back a lot of memories."

Trish was watching her closely, she realized, bright blue eyes scanning her expression. "Probably." Quickly changing the subject, she asked, "So, what were you doing out here, anyway?"

"I was trying to call Amon," Robin replied sadly, looking down at her phone again.

Smiling gently, Trish asked, "You're worried about him, aren't you?" Laughing suddenly, she amended, "But that's a pretty useless question, isn't it? Of course you're worried about him."

"I am," Robin answered quietly, thinking again about their late night conversation. "But that reminds me. I've been meaning to thank you. You were the only one who told me the truth about Amon, and I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your honesty."

"I'm just glad it worked out," Trish replied with a shrug. "With Amon, it's hard to tell. I wasn't sure if I was helping or simply creating more problems by suggesting that you talk to him."

"Maybe you should talk to Dante," Robin found herself saying, though she immediately regretted the words when she saw the way Trish stiffened in response.

Forcing a smile, Trish asked, "What makes you say that?"

"He's troubled. I can't make sense of his emotions, but they make me anxious."

Trish looked away, her counterfeit smile dissolving into a frown. "I'm afraid I'm to blame for some of them. It seems like all we've done since I came back from the demon world is argue."

"Why?" Robin asked in concern, leaning forward to get a better look at Trish's face.

Biting her lower lip, Trish said carefully, "There's something he deserves to know—something I should have told him right away. But I can't say the words. I can't find a way to explain it that won't make things worse."

"It seems to me that not telling him the truth is worse than whatever it is you might have to say. You told me the truth about Amon when no one else would. Surely he would rather know the truth than wonder about it, just like I did."

"I don't know. This is a pretty terrible truth."

Frowning, Robin clutched at her phone again. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"Oh, Robin." Trish turned to her again with a smile, but this time it was more genuine. "I don't want you worrying about this too. But, if you want to help, maybe you could try to talk to him and cheer him up. It might make more difference coming from you."

"I will try, but…I think he needs you more right now than me."

Considering this silently, Trish sighed and looked back at the horizon. "The sun's set already," she said finally. "We should go back inside. It's only going to get colder."

----------

Dante stepped into the quiet of the office, unsurprised to see his brother next to one of the bookcases, a crumbling tome splayed open reverently in his hand. The room might have been converted into the business office for the owners of the Monarch, but it still looked enough like his father's study to make Dante pause. Gently nudging the door shut behind him with his boot, Dante rested a hand against the smooth, aged wood while watching his brother's silent silhouette. His fingers slid down the varnished door to the knob and turned the lock.

Vergil's lips curved into a humorless smile. Without looking away from his book he said quietly, "Wanting to keep me all to yourself, brother?"

Crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the door, Dante commented, "Business hours are over. What are you doing in here? If grandma catches you rummaging through her stuff, you'll be sorry."

Ancient paper rasped in the quiet as Vergil delicately turned a page. "Unless you failed to notice, these are not her books. They belonged to our father. Besides that, I actually had an invitation to come in here—unlike you. She thinks I look like the man in the painting." He nodded toward the large portrait hanging above the mantle. "What do you think?"

Dante frowned as he looked at the familiar painting, feeling as if his father's disapproving gaze was almost as real as it had been when he was alive. "You may look like dad, but that doesn't mean you take after him in any way that matters."

Sidestepping Dante's insult, Vergil asked with a sigh, "Did you come here for a purpose, Dante, or were you simply bored?"

Dante honestly didn't have a good answer to that question. He was trying to give Trish her space, and his feet had somehow led him to the one place he should have known he would be able to find Vergil. Although, he had to admit that part of him was itching for a fight, and talking with Vergil was almost guaranteed to end up that way. "What do you think?" he asked finally, repeating Vergil's previous question back to him.

Vergil turned another page, his eyes scanning rapidly over the thin, spidery characters scrawled over the paper. "I think you must have a purpose. A place so full of knowledge and learning as this one would not interest you otherwise." He snapped the book shut abruptly, pursing his lips as he slid it back into place on the bookshelf, his fingers tracing over the worn spines of other books lightly before pausing on a volume at the end of the shelf. His fingers caressed the gold-leafed binding gently as he added, "I trust you did not come here for a fight. You know I would refuse to fight you in this place."

He couldn't help but smile; sometimes his brother knew him too well. "I don't know about that. I could always hold a few precious books ransom and make you beg."

Vergil's gaze sliced through the air toward Dante, icy blue sparking through slitted eyes. "Stop acting like a child. I already told you that I did not know what to expect when we came here, but I am trying to make the best of the situation regardless. This infantile desire of yours to prove yourself against me will have to wait."

Pushing himself away from the door with a shrug, Dante wandered farther into the room, trying to keep the bitterness from his face. "Always writing all the rules, aren't you?" His jaw clenched unconsciously as he paused next to Vergil. "I don't see the point. After all, when have I ever followed the rules?"

Regarding Dante neutrally, Vergil answered, "Never. Not even when breaking the rules worked to your disadvantage."

"So," Dante said softly, reaching behind Vergil to pull a book off the shelf, his lips hovering over Vergil's ear as he continued in a hushed tone, "found anything interesting yet? Or are you even really looking? You probably already know the answer, but you've got to make it look believable when you decide to share it with us, right?"

Vergil did not react verbally to Dante's proximity, but his breaths were shallower than they had been, his lips slightly parted and his shoulders tense. Dante smirked, resting back against the desk behind him and flipping open the book. He had learned long ago that invading Vergil's personal space often won him a glimpse of weakness from his brother; he didn't really know why, but he could only assume that Vergil was uncomfortable with uninvited physical contact. To his knowledge, even their mother had never so much as hugged Vergil—but then again, their mother had always seemed a little frightened of him.

"I'm growing tired of constantly having to defend myself to you," Vergil said, visibly composing himself as he watched Dante flip roughly through the book. "I wish you could realize that we're on the same side this time."

Dante snorted. "Are we?" He wasn't even looking at the pages as he flipped through them, but he enjoyed annoying his brother with his irreverence for the age of the book.

"I have cooperated with you from the moment I stepped into the human world. I have shared with you what I know of our enemy's weakness, and I have even allowed these humans to tag along though they are little more than dead weight."

"How magnanimous of you."

Vergil's piercing blue gaze sharpened. "Do you even know what that word means?"

Slapping the book shut with a palm on either cover, Dante glared up at Vergil with a vengeful smile. "You bet your pretentious ass I do."

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "Pretentious. Now there's a word that cuts both ways. I realize looking at me is a little like looking in a mirror, but you can't use that insult on me without applying it to your own image as well. If that ostentatious red coat isn't a pretense, I don't know what is."

Dante's smirk widened, though it was tempered by more than a little bitterness. Stroking his fingertips languidly over the soft leather of his jacket, he replied acridly, "Ah, come on Verge. This is no pretense. I just look good in red, that's all."

Something was burning in Vergil's eyes, and yet his expression was even frostier than before. "My point--before you derailed it with your flaunting of higher vocabulary—was that I have been nothing but accommodating since we began working together. I have given you no reason to doubt my intentions, and I don't understand why you continue to question me at every turn."

Tilting his head and shaking it minutely as he placed the book down on the table next to him, Dante said earnestly, "The only thing I will ever trust about you is your ability to disappoint me."

Vergil actually flinched; it was a brief reaction, but Dante's quick eyes caught it easily. Squaring his shoulders, Vergil retorted, "I've never looked for or needed your approval. It's unfortunate for you that the reverse is not true."

Shrugging mildly, Dante smiled again. "I stopped looking for that a long time ago—as soon as I realized it wasn't worth shit."

A short sigh rushed out of Vergil's lips, and the jut of his jaw indicated that he was beginning to get truly annoyed. "While bantering with you is always a captivating pursuit, it is also a futile one. These erstwhile games are becoming more tedious with every repetition."

Dante's smile tightened. "Are you testing my vocabulary, brother? You're using even more snobbish words than usual."

Vergil blinked apathetically at him. "Do I need to find you a dictionary?"

Chuckling softly, Dante said coyly. "What good would that do? You can't actually expect me to know how to spell all of those tired, old words."

Vergil pursed his lips. "I suppose I expected you to have at least a basic grasp of phonetics, but it seems I've overestimated you again."

Pressing his hand over his heart, Dante smiled mockingly. "Ouch."

Narrowing his eyes, Vergil shifted his weight to one foot, regarding Dante closely. "Why are you prolonging this pointless conversation, Dante? You have done nothing but trade insults with me, yet you wouldn't have come here without a purpose. Are you simply avoiding the inevitable, or do you truly enjoy arguing with me enough to lock the door behind you to ensure we aren't interrupted?"

Leaning back against the heavy desk with his palms resting against the cool wooden surface and his fingers curling over the edge, Dante let the smile fade from his lips. "It's my turn to write some rules."

"Oh?" Vergil's brow arched sardonically over his hostile gaze.

"I don't know what you did," Dante said dispassionately, working hard at keeping the anger out of his voice but hoping Vergil wouldn't notice just how hard it was for him to do so, "but I know you did something to Trish when you were in the demon world."

Vergil's expression twisted with conceit and he raised his chin haughtily. "I can't say I'm surprised that she didn't tell you what happened, although I find your phrasing regrettable. I didn't 'do' anything to her that she didn't allow to happen."

Though Dante had been living with the reality for several days that something had happened that Trish wasn't telling him, he hadn't expected that hearing the confirmation of it would be so painful. His repressed anger burning too hotly for him to hold it back any longer, he snapped, "Don't even try to cast the blame on her. Admit it. You raped her, didn't you?"

Though the blush on his cheeks was faint, it seemed all too obvious against Vergil's pale skin. "I would not have touched her if she had not desired my touch."

"Is that so?" Dante growled. "I'd like to know how you came to that conclusion. Because if she wanted you so badly, I don't think she would be walking around like a wounded bird right now."

"Maybe you should ask her why," Vergil replied icily.

Dante did not know if his brother really was perceptive enough to know just how much that comment would hurt him, but it didn't matter anyway. Vergil was playing him like a violin and he was allowing him to do it. Taking a deep breath, he managed to reign in his anger enough to say softly, "Just so we're clear, I know you think you're untouchable, but I've learned a few things since the last time I beat your ass. I'm letting you off the hook for now because I don't have another choice, but I'll find a new choice real damn quick if you even look at her again."

Vergil's lips tightened in contempt. "Your bravado, as usual, is suffocating. Can you do anything but make ill-mannered threats?"

Closing the distance between them in a step and gripping Vergil's throat through the silk of his cravat, Dante shoved him back against the bookcase with a visceral smile, enjoying the way his brother recoiled from his proximity. "You'd be surprised by what I can do."

"Still too slow, Dante," Vergil whispered, and Dante felt the cool tip of a blade slip between the open folds of his coat and press against the thin material of his shirt. It irked him more than a little that the blade was his own, a knife he had hidden in a sheath at his thigh. As much as Dante hated to give his brother credit for anything, he had to admit he had some serious talent. Unfortunately, that talent was getting in the way of Dante's attempt to intimidate him.

Trying to regain at least a shred of his pride, Dante replied, "If I were really trying, you'd know."

"Oh, you're certainly trying enough as it is. My patience is nearly at its limit." The tip of the blade traced a path down Dante's chest and over his stomach, the touch light enough to keep from tearing the fabric, but firm enough for Dante to feel the menace of the blade clearly.

"Careful with the shirt," Dante murmured.

"I am always careful. Perhaps you should be more careful with your threats."

"Yeah? Well, maybe you should be more careful where you stick your dick."

Vergil blinked slowly in response, his lips twisting with distaste. "Your vulgarity subverts your point, Dante."

"Funny, I thought rape was a little more vulgar than crude language."

Tensing beneath Dante's grip on his neck, Vergil's nostrils flared. "You throw that term around recklessly for someone who hasn't bothered to learn the whole story."

Leaning close enough that their noses were nearly touching, Dante glared into Vergil's narrowed cerulean eyes with a ferocity he hoped his brother could feel. "As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter what the story is. You won't manipulate me into doubting her." His hand tightened on Vergil's neck and Dante considered finishing the job, crushing his brother's neck right here and now and ending this feud before anyone else had to suffer.

Vergil's eyes drifted shut and Dante started when he felt his brother's cool fingertips against his skin, pushing his shirt up over his abdomen. He was too surprised by the action to react before the cold steel of his own blade plunged into his stomach and twisted. Stumbling backward, Dante felt the heavy desk scoot a few inches over the floor when he landed against it, his backward momentum encouraged by the press of Vergil's weight as it pinned him down.

"I spared your precious shirt, Dante," Vergil snarled, "but you can spare me your ingratitude."

Panting for air, Dante gripped the dagger still buried in his stomach, but Vergil's hand caught his before he could pull it out. "I thought you didn't want to fight me here," Dante yelled in Vergil's face. "Might get blood on some of your archaic books."

His face set in a stony grimace, Vergil roughly caressed Dante's cheek with his free hand, whispering, "If it's _your_ blood, dear brother, I might forgive it."

Dante kicked him in the shin and threw Vergil off of him with a grunt. "You are one sick fuck," he managed between gasps for air as he pulled the dagger out and pressed his other hand against the wound.

Vergil shook his head, straightening his coat and putting his hair back in order. "Trying to reason with you is a waste of time, Dante. You only understand brute force."

"I think I understand a few other things," Dante murmured, feeling the flow of blood slow beneath his fingers and knowing the wound was already healing.

Turning away abruptly, Vergil said quietly, "For what it's worth, your threats are unnecessary. I have no intention of touching that woman again. She bores me even more than you do." He glanced back at Dante over his shoulder, his expression indiscernible. "Now, leave me."

"I don't follow your orders." Dante knew his childish retort was not really helping his cause since he had absolutely no desire to stay any longer, but the reaction was too deeply ingrained to be ignored.

Vergil sighed deeply, looking away again. "I know." Something about his tone made Dante ache inside; Dante hated this traitorous feeling even more than he hated his brother.

"Enjoy your books," Dante said sourly, meticulously wiping his bloodied hand on the book still resting innocently on the table. "I hope you get a paper cut."

His boots rapped harshly against the floor as he crossed the room to the door, but his sensitive ears still caught Vergil's faintly murmured words, though he wished that they hadn't.

"Just keep hating me, Dante."

---------

Nagira whistled tunelessly as he navigated the dreary hallways of their hotel. Juggling two cups of steaming coffee in one hand while trying to open the door to their hotel room, he managed to make it inside without spilling a drop, though the plastic lids on the Styrofoam cups were mostly responsible for the achievement.

He had escaped the room after their early morning argument to give Amon a chance to cool down. It was certainly not the first disagreement since they started working together, though it had been one of the fiercest yet. "I've got coffee," he announced with forced pleasantness as he entered the room, hoping the peace offering would help to soothe Amon's fraying nerves.

Amon nodded vaguely, his cell phone pressed against his ear and his gaze distant.

Sighing, Nagira placed Amon's coffee neatly on the table and took a seat on the end of one of the beds. Though Amon refused to acknowledge weakness, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was wearing down; the fruitless weeks of searching on top of all of the turmoil he had been through recently was pushing him to his limit and Nagira knew it was inevitable that he would eventually break down. No one could keep going this way forever.

"Yes, I know." Amon said sharply into the phone. "I will find her. Just buy me a little more time with headquarters. I feel like we're getting close."

Nagira shook his head and took a sip of coffee, hissing when he burned his tongue. They were no closer to finding her than they were to finding the lost city of Atlantis, but it was admirable of Amon to maintain such a positive attitude.

That had been the subject of their argument that morning, in fact. Nagira had suggested that Amon take a break and let Solomon search for her themselves. He wasn't making much progress on his own, and he had already gone through the stress of rescuing his daughter. She was safe now, thankfully, and well protected, but that victory had cost Amon more than he was willing to admit. Even exhausted as he was, though, Amon had refused to give up and insisted that he could not leave this task for anyone else. Nagira figured that this girl must really be special. Otherwise, so many people wouldn't be after her, or willing to risk so much to find her.

"No," Amon said with a hint of frustration. "She's still not answering my phone calls. But we are at a hotel in the town they said they were going to. If they aren't still here somewhere, then we'll find out where they went." He paused, his knuckles turning white as his hand clenched on the phone. "I'll give you an update on my progress tomorrow."

Sipping carefully at his steaming coffee, Nagira asked when Amon had hung up the phone, "That your girlfriend?"

Amon scowled at him as he reached for his coffee. "She is not my girlfriend."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Watching him carefully, his grey eyes narrowed, Amon commented, "You know, if you're so unhappy with this situation, you can go back to Japan. I don't need you here anymore."

Nagira felt emotion clench at his heart and he took a deep breath. "I've come with you this far. I'm not running away now." He shook his head. "I just never thought I would be on the same side as Solomon—it kind of goes against everything I've ever believed."

Scoffing at him, Amon turned toward the window, the coffee cup raised to his lips. "Simone is safe now. And you know that Zaizen was the one responsible for her capture, not Solomon. As far as your beliefs go, I think you know as well as I do what's at stake now. We have to find her."

"Yeah. So you've said," Nagira replied sourly. "Whoever this Robin is, she must be really powerful to have everyone in such an uproar."

"It's about more than just power," Amon said quietly.

Studying Amon's profile, Nagira considered his statement. He couldn't figure out what it was in Amon's voice that unsettled him, but whenever Amon talked about Robin, Nagira had the feeling there was something he wasn't saying. He found himself wanting to find her at least as much as everyone else did, if only to figure out why Amon's eyes looked so troubled whenever he said her name. Anyone who could get to Amon like that was someone Nagira wanted to meet.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**Please refrain from throwing sharp objects at me. Seriously, it will make sense in the end. And it will be cool (I hope). I know it's a terrible way to end a chapter, but if you're beginning to think I never make any progress in this story (which I sometimes worry about) then just remember that we found out some important things in this chapter. What exactly happened between Trish and Vergil all those chapters ago is starting to come out finally. And Vergil, in case you forgot, is not necessarily a good guy. I'm sure you didn't forget, but still… One thing about Vergil though, he's very careful not to lie--he twists the truth like a flimsy twist-tie, but he doesn't really lie. Also, Lucifer is starting to get involved again and it's a safe bet to guess that he will be the end boss. **

**A couple random notes for any nerds out there who might actually care…**

**Trip Advisor: I'm a fan of The Office and I couldn't help thinking of Dwight's Beet Farm Bed and Breakfast and his obsession with reviews on Trip Advisor. **

**Business hours are over: Another Flight of the Conchords reference. Look up "Business Time" on YouTube and you'll know why I can't but crack up at this line even though it wasn't meant to be funny in context.**

**Also, the scene with Vergil and Dante in this chapter was something I wrote at least six months ago and had been waiting impatiently to write my way up to. If it feels out of the flow of the rest of the chapter, that's probably why. I had to practically rewrite it to make it fit as it is, but I liked it too much to not put it in somewhere.**

**Anyway, I hope you're all still with me and willing to come along to the end of this story--because it's actually in sight now!**


	13. Conditioned

**Author's Note:**

**We're finally one chapter closer to the end of this story. I apologize for the delay, but if you knew all the headaches I've had with this chapter you would have some sympathy for my plight. I have had to rewrite half of this chapter at least three times, all because of computer errors. My old laptop died a couple months ago and it took me a while to get a new one. Then, I discovered a strange glitch on the new computer that corrupted my file twice while I was working on it. And then, in my paranoia to back things up, I also accidentally copied an older version over a newer one at one point. Anyway, it's truly a miracle that this chapter got finished at all.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Conditioned**

Although Trish had not been intending to actually fall asleep when she went back up to her room, she was in the middle of a dream by the time Dante shoved through the door and flung it shut behind him. Blinking blearily at him as she tried to shake off the fog of sleep, Trish pushed herself up on her elbows. "Dante?"

He didn't reply as he paced into the room, tossing his red coat down over a chair and scowling as he peeled off his gloves and flung them down beside it. She caught a glimpse of dried blood on his stomach when he pulled his gun holster over his head and she sat up straighter.

"Dante, what happened?"

Glancing up at her, his lips pressed into a thin line, he ignored her question.

"Dante," she said more insistently.

"I'm taking a shower," he muttered before stalking off toward the bathroom.

She flinched when the bathroom door slammed, a dark dread settling at the pit of her stomach. Something had changed. He would have said if the blood on his skin had come from any normal encounter with demon spawn—would have told her if they were in danger because of such an attack. She knew how he had gotten cut simply by his silence. He had picked a fight with Vergil and lost. Her instincts were certain of that fact.

Part of her immediately panicked at the implication because she still didn't know if she was ready to talk about what had really happened in the underworld. The rest of her was angry with Dante for forcing the issue. Settling back to wait, Trish picked up a magazine from the table next to the bed and flipped through it without seeing anything on the pages, trying and failing to distract herself from her dark thoughts. Finally, the bathroom door opened and Dante emerged wrapped in a towel, tendrils of wet hair dripping against his neck.

"The color didn't wash out," he grumbled as he crossed the room to his suitcase. "She promised me it would. I should have known she was lying."

"It will wash out eventually," Trish replied. Gritting her teeth, she asked, "So are you ready to tell me what happened?"

"How long is 'eventually?'" Dante said, pointedly ignoring her question. "A week? A month? I'm sick of this color already."

Slapping the magazine shut between her palms, she snapped, "Dante."

A small smile twisted his lips with bitter amusement. "What? Can't I have my own secrets?" He retrieved a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his suitcase and turned his back on her, his towel falling carelessly to the floor as he dressed.

Trish looked away sharply to avoid becoming distracted. His accusation stung because she knew that he had a valid point; she was being a hypocrite to demand an answer from him when she still had not shared her own experience. For the first time since she had returned from the demon world, she understood how hard it must have been on him to simply wait and wonder while she delayed revealing her secret. "Fine," she breathed. "But I'm concerned about the blood I saw on your skin. We all deserve to know if there's some new danger to worry about."

"I spilled ketchup on myself." Dante turned around and leaned back against the dresser, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding her with an unblinking stare that made her instantly uncomfortable.

Sighing in frustration and tossing her magazine across the room, Trish said, "I don't get it. Why are you being so evasive about this?"

Shrugging, he replied, "I guess Vergil just brings out the evasiveness in all of us."

Trish could have laughed. They were finally making a little progress, but she still hadn't learned anything new. "What did he do?"

Dante smirked, but the expression was painfully acerbic. "I still don't know. I have a pretty good idea, but no one will give me a straight answer."

Her eyes narrowing when she realized she had asked the wrong question, she countered, "Okay. What did _you_ do, then?"

Dante shrugged, his gaze focusing on the ceiling and his jaw set with ire. "I made an educated guess. Doesn't matter anyway. I don't think he'll ever touch you again—and if he tries, he's going to have my sword down his throat."

"You threatened him?" While the thought of Dante being so protective made affection well up inside of her, she didn't think Vergil would respond well to a threat—especially if he felt that Dante's complaints were unfounded. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Because I don't know what else to do." The faintness of the words betrayed his helplessness clearly and she ached at the raw emotion in his voice. "I may not know what happened exactly, but I know he hurt you, and I can't just let him get away with that."

"If you were teaching him a lesson," she said, carefully avoiding his implication, "why are you one with blood on your skin?"

He closed his eyes, but did not respond.

Gathering her courage, Trish decided she had delayed the inevitable long enough. If her continued silence had driven Dante to seek answers directly from his brother, then he must really be desperate for the truth. With Robin's advice from earlier in the evening echoing in her head, she decided to come clean, no matter the consequence.

"Dante." He glanced at her without turning his head. Taking a deep breath, she tried to find a place to start. Though she had had several days to think of a way to explain what had happened in the demon world, she was no closer to finding a way to sugarcoat the truth without turning it into an outright lie. So, she decided to stick to the facts. "I had sex with Vergil when I was in the demon world."

She watched his reaction without breathing. She had expected him to yell, get angry or become violent. He was doing none of those things, though the hurt was all too obvious in his eyes.

"It wasn't rape," she continued quietly. "I could have stopped him, but I didn't."

Chuckling sardonically, he interrupted with a shake of his head, "Damn, he's a manipulative bastard. Did he tell you that's how it happened? Because I don't believe it...and neither should you."

Trish shook her head. His reaction was not what she had been expecting and she didn't know how to respond to the unyielding trust she heard in his voice. Part of her wanted to stop now and not risk destroying that trust, but she knew that it would slowly crumble on its own if she allowed him to believe a lie. Denying the temptation to let him to talk her out of her admission, she cut him off sharply, "Dante, stop."

"No. If you had really wanted it, then you wouldn't be so upset by the whole thing," Dante's voice was icy cold, his expression hardened with resolve. "Answer me this. Did you jump him? Or did he force himself on you? Because if he forced you, then it wasn't your choice."

Trish considered his questions silently. Vergil had forced himself on her—there was no question about that—and by human terms it probably would have been considered rape. He had not been gentle and he had left bruises on her skin—but she was not a human, and so it had not exactly been rape. As a demon, violence was inherent in her nature. It was a part of her, something she craved no matter how human she might pretend to be. She didn't think Dante would ever understand that aspect of her even though a fraction of it existed within him as well. Vergil, on the other hand, understood all too well what it meant to be a demon, and he had ruthlessly called her true nature to the surface, awakening something within her that she hadn't even known existed.

"Dante..." Trish said sadly, her fingers clenching in the quilt beneath her, "sometimes I think you forget I'm not human. No, I didn't approach him. But he understands what I really am far better than you do." The words were painful to say, because she didn't want to admit that Vergil knew her better than he did.

"He forced me into it to start with," she continued haltingly, "but I didn't stop him in the end...because at that point I hadn't wanted him to stop." Not wanting to leave any confusion in his mind over what had happened, she added, "So, don't keep trying to defend me...because the fact is that I betrayed you." She had originally been created to betray Dante, after all—just as Vergil had once pointed out—and despite her best intentions she seemed to be destined to fulfill that purpose over and over again.

She didn't know how to interpret the expression she saw forming on his face because she had never seen him look so lost before. The fiery determination in his eyes was gone and they were unfocused and blank as they cast about the room as if searching for something that made sense. The transformation was heartrending to watch, but she forced herself to watch it; she had played a role in hurting him and the least she could do was face the pain she had caused.

Standing up despite the way her legs trembled beneath her, Trish approached him cautiously. Her voice choked with emotion, she murmured, "I didn't tell you before because I knew that his goal from the beginning was to hurt you. I didn't want him to get what he wanted...but I guess you were going to get hurt either way." His eyes were focused on the end of the bed, but they immediately darted toward her when she raised a hand to his cheek. Without making contact with his skin, she pulled her hand away quickly, whispering, "I'm sorry."

"If you enjoyed the experience so damn much, then why are you acting like you'd break if I so much as breathed on you?" Dante's voice was brittle and he avoided her eyes as he spoke. "Or is it just me?" He took a step away from her, watching her closely out of the corners of his eyes. "It must be hard to settle for me now that you've been with him. Is that why you pushed me away?" Anger flaring in his eyes again, he growled, "I guess the thought of being with me after you've had someone like Vergil must be pretty repulsive, huh?"

"No!" Trish reached for his arm to prevent him from moving farther away. "Dante. It's not like that."

"Then why did you push me away?" he demanded, twisting his arm out of her grasp.

"Because I feel guilty!" She practically screamed the words, her body shaking with emotion as she closed the distance between them again. "Because I don't deserve you after what I've done. And because I'm afraid of myself. I don't know if I can control the demon inside of me. No matter how human I look, I am a demon and I will never be able to change that fact; he made me remember that."

"Do you love him?" If she hadn't been standing close enough to feel his breath against her skin, she wouldn't have believed that he had actually spoken the words; his voice was so distant and fragile.

"No," she whimpered. "Not even a little. I despise him."

His expression painfully serious, he persisted, "Did you want to have sex with him?"

She hesitated. That was a trickier question. She had been attracted to Vergil on some level, but it was true that she had not wanted what had happened between them. "No."

"Then by my definition, it's still rape. Whether you gave in to him in the end or not doesn't matter. You didn't ask for it, and you didn't consent until he had already seduced you." He turned away and pulled a pair of pants out of his suitcase. "So, stop blaming yourself." He started walking toward the door when he was fully dressed, and while she felt relieved that he didn't pick up any of his weapons along the way, she still didn't want him to leave right now.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," he replied, his hand on the door. "Don't wait up for me."

The door snapped shut behind him and she found herself shivering uncontrollably when he was gone. The truth was no longer a silent burden weighing her down, but she had no better idea of the repercussions of what had happened now than she had before. The uncertainty was crippling, but she supposed she deserved it.

-----------

Still groggy from his long afternoon nap, Michael squinted at his computer screen and tried to ignore his companions' gossip and focus instead on removing all the bugs Solomon had installed on his laptop and making it hack proof. Everyone had been tired enough to spend most of the afternoon sleeping and they all seemed to be reluctant to go back to sleep now when they knew this might be their last chance to relax for a while.

"So, what's the deal with Dante's brother?" Doujima asked, one finger pressed against her lips in a pensive gesture. "I get the idea that they're practically enemies."

Robin nodded. "They are." Resting her chin on her knees as she drew them up to her chest, she added, "But I think their relationship is more complicated than that."

"Still...there's something about him, isn't there?" Doujima smiled dreamily. Then, punching Robin lightly on the shoulder, she said, "And you got to spend half of our trip from the airport to here in his arms.

Clearing his throat rather obviously, Sakaki said, "From what I've heard, he's more of an asshole than Amon." Robin blinked at him with a startled expression and he quickly revised his comment. "I mean...it sounds like he's kind of heartless. You know...cold like Amon is sometimes."

Michael had to restrain the impulse to roll his eyes. "Really smooth, Haru," he muttered.

"Anyway, I still can't believe Amon ditched all of you and stayed back in Japan," Doujima exclaimed, pouncing on the opportunity to bring up the topic.

"He had something he had to do," Robin stated without looking at her.

"Must have been important," Doujima prodded.

"It is."

Doujima sighed deeply, but Michael jumped in before she could ask more questions. "Let it go. Can't you see she doesn't want to talk about it?"

Frowning, Doujima looked away, but didn't say a word.

"So..." Sakaki leaned toward Michael and looked over his shoulder. "Do you have any video games on there?"

Scowling at him, Michael retorted, "It's a laptop, not a gaming machine."

A slow smile spread across Sakaki's face. "You didn't answer my question."

Wishing he were a better liar, Michael sighed. "I downloaded Portal before we left."

"I knew it!" Sakaki nearly jumped up and down on the bed in glee.

"It's only the first few levels though, you know. They haven't released the whole game yet."

Sakaki pretended to cry. "Are you saying the cake is a lie?"

Michael could help but smile. "No," he said begrudgingly, "but it still needs some garnishes."

"Like fish shaped crackers!" Sakaki yipped.

"And fish shaped candies," Michael agreed.

"But let's skip the fish shaped solid waste. That's just nasty."

Yawning quite obviously, Doujima glanced at Robin. "I think this is our cue to leave. They could be at this all night."

Robin nodded, but before she could slide off the bed, a violent shudder ran through her body.

"Is something wrong?" Michael asked, always unnaturally aware of her when she was in the room and therefore noticing her strange reaction immediately.

"I don't know," she said softly, her expression far away.

"You don't know?" Doujima echoed with a laugh, but Robin's expression was sober and she did not even smile.

Scooting off of the bed, Robin said abruptly, "I need to find Dante."

"Why?" Sakaki asked glancing at his companions as if they were any less dumbfounded by Robin's reactions than he was.

"I just need to find him."

"Do you want us to go with you?" Michael asked, thinking about Solomon and not wanting her to wander off on her own if Dante had left the house.

"No," she said sharply, but then smiled to soften the edge in her voice. "It's not like that. I'm just worried." Pausing at the door, she made a half wave in their direction. "Good night."

When she was gone, they all exchanged looks of confusion.

"Do you think we should have let her go?" Sakaki asked.

"I don't know." Doujima bit her lower lip. "What do you think, Michael?"

"I think she's smart enough to know better than to leave the house on her own with Solomon after her."

"I sure hope so," Doujima replied. "Or Amon will have all of our heads when he joins up with us again."

"We had some good times though, didn't we?" Sakaki said wistfully, glancing at Michael who just couldn't resist finishing the quote though Doujima looked more annoyed with every word.

"Like that one time, when the platform was going down into the fire pit. And I said, 'Goodbye,' and you were like, 'NO WAY!' and then I was all, 'We pretended we were going to murder you.'"

Sakaki smiled. "That was great. Someday we'll look back on all this and laugh and laugh and laugh. Oh boy."

-----------

Dante was just drunk enough not to care that the bartender was giving him the evil eye. He had already consumed enough alcohol to send a normal man to the hospital and then some, and yet he was still asking for more. While the bartender clearly didn't mind the tab he was racking up, he was likely suspicious that Dante would not be able to cover it, even if he could manage to survive the poison he was pouring down his throat.

The downside of the phenomenal healing abilities granted by his demon blood was that it took an awful lot of alcohol to make him drunk. Dante had experimented with his tolerance long ago and discovered that if he could just drink fast enough to stay ahead of his healing powers, then he could overcome his demon blood…for a little while. Unfortunately, he rarely had enough cash on hand to reach that goal.

Tapping the bar impatiently as he waited for another drink, Dante blinked at the mirror on the other side of the bar. He could just make out the shape of a tall, dark man in the reflection past the rows of bottles and glasses. For a moment he thought it was Amon—as improbable as that seemed—but he quickly thought better of his assumption when he saw the man's fathomless eyes. The figure sat down on the stool next to Dante—or at least seemed to sit down, though his body didn't move quite right and somehow seemed to be floating more than sitting.

Dante chuckled, too drunk to care whether the painfully attractive man was really there or merely a figment of his imagination. "If it isn't Lucy," Dante slurred, raising his fresh glass of whiskey in a mock salute. "You come here often?"

The demon regarded Dante silently, a small smile curving his pale lips.

Gesturing wildly at the bartender, Dante cried, "Get this man a drink! One of those pink things with an umbrella!" The bartender ignored him entirely, shaking his head and pretending to wipe down a table. Sighing and throwing back his own drink, Dante murmured, "God, I love those umbrellas. Though I suppose I shouldn't be mentioning_him_ around you, should I? Some hard feelings there, I'd imagine."

Lucifer observed him with an arched brow. "You're drunk."

Dante laughed, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

"I'm disappointed." Tapping a slender finger against the bar, Lucifer frowned. "I expected you to take a lot longer to crumble."

Glaring at him in the reflection behind the bar, Dante listened to the ice shift in his glass as he tipped it to the side and refused to reply.

"How pathetic," Lucifer continued in that satiny voice of his, painful words slicing into Dante with the softness of silk. "Drowning your troubles away in such a human fashion, dulling your senses and suppressing your powers all in an attempt to forget your own foolishness. And it is all the more wretched when you consider how completely unnecessary it is. You have all the power you could ever desire at your fingertips, but you are too dull-witted to even see it."

Dante smirked, licking the last drop of liquid out of his glass. "Is this the part where you tempt me and tell me I could be king of the world if I only bow to you?"

Lucifer's dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "You're not important enough for all of that. The power I speak of is already your own—you need only claim it."

"Of course. Turn to the dark side, Luke," Dante replied in a throaty growl, his voice a rough imitation of Emperor Palpatine. "Give in to your hatred."

"You misunderstand me. The solution to your problem is simple." Lucifer turned toward Dante, cocking his head so that strands of raven hair fell across his eyes. "You allow your brother to rule you, but he is the one truly at your mercy."

Frowning as he felt his short-lived buzz already wearing off, Dante grumbled, "Vergil just knows how to get to me. That's all."

"Do you want to know how to get to him?"

"Aha." Dante pointed a finger at Lucifer's delicate nose. "I knew it. You're tempting me. But I don't make deals with the devil."

Disregarding his comment, Lucifer said boldly, "Seduce him."

Dante blinked, caught off guard in spite of himself. "What?"

Lucifer raised a hand to Dante's face, tracing slender fingertips over his skin and leaning toward him languidly. "Try it. You might be surprised by how he reacts."

Feeling rather uncomfortable, Dante looked away, his hand clenching his glass tightly enough that a crack began spreading over its surface. "Damn, I must be really drunk," he whispered.

One hand catching in Dante's hair on the other side of his head like a claw, Lucifer pulled Dante toward him, his lips hovering over his ear as he breathed, "You are Vergil's weakness. You say I am tempting you, but you are the one who should be tempting him. If you want to win, you must control him through his desires."

The sound of sharp whistles and catcalls from elsewhere in the bar caught Dante's attention suddenly and he shook himself. Glancing around and discovering that no one was sitting anywhere near him, he wondered if he had dreamed up the entire bizarre episode. If Lucifer had actually been there, he had evaporated into thin air. Maybe he was losing his mind—at this point Dante wouldn't have really been surprised.

"Hey sweet thing," a gruff voice said lewdly. "Why don't you come over here?"

Following the sound of the voice, Dante looked toward the front door and nearly fell off his stool when he saw Robin standing there huddled in her bulky maroon coat. Her green eyes were focused entirely on him and she didn't seem to even be aware of the men calling to her from the surrounding tables. Shaking away the foggy shroud of alcohol with a rush of adrenaline when he saw one of the men reach for her, Dante stood up and met her halfway across the room. The man quickly backed away when he saw the scowl on Dante's face.

"What are you doing here, Robin?" he asked softly, guiding her back toward the bar with him and watching the other men warily.

"I was looking for you," she answered in that meek voice of hers that did not belong in a bar with a bunch of drunken idiots—and he was including himself in that category.

Settling himself on his barstool again, he shook his head. "Why?" But he knew the answer when he met her earnest gaze. "Dammit," he hissed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had temporarily forgotten about their connection; his emotions had been so strong that they had drowned hers out entirely and he hadn't even considered how much they would worry her.

"What happened?"

He laughed sardonically at the question though he knew she had absolutely no idea what a controversial question that had been for him all evening. Waving the bartender off when he approached with the whiskey bottle, he replied, "It doesn't matter."

"If it didn't matter, you wouldn't be here," she pointed out astutely.

"Did you come here all by yourself?" Dante asked, dodging her comment. She nodded and he groaned. The bar was only a little ways down the street, but he didn't like the thought of her venturing down that dark road on her own, especially with all the bad guys currently after her. "Not a bright idea, Robin."

"I was worried."

"And that's my fault, I know." Dante paid his tab with a credit card, trying not to look at all the numbers on the total line. "Sorry." Shaking his head with a sour smile, he added, "I guess Amon just picked the wrong guy as your body guard."

Robin's expression darkened into the very picture of chronic worry.

"Stop looking at me like that," he muttered as he retrieved his credit card and slid off his stool. "Come on. Let's get out of here." Robin followed him toward the door, but one of the men stepped in front of him before they could get there.

"Hey. Where you think you're going with the little lady?" the greasy man asked with a phony smile.

Dante shook his head, disbelieving that anyone could be so stupid. "I think I'm going out that door. So, unless you want to be the new doormat, I'd suggest getting the hell out of my way."

"Dante," Robin murmured and he sensed other men in the bar rising to their feet behind them.

Glancing back at the thuggish characters and turning in a slow circle to survey his enemies, Dante grinned. "Can you all really be this stupid?"

"Just step away from the girl, and we'll let you go," one of the men said with a sinister expression. The new guy didn't fit the setting as well as the others in his trench coat and horn-rimmed specs, and Dante felt an instant suspicion that they had walked into a trap of some sort.

"A bit of advice," Dante said, maneuvering himself between Robin and the majority of the aggressors. "You really don't want to fuck with me right now."

"We just want Robin," the man said in a terribly calm tone, as if he was being so reasonable that Dante would have to be a fool not to go along with him. Dante wasn't so drunk that he failed to notice that the man knew her name; he might have just overheard it when Dante said it earlier, but somehow Dante didn't think so. "Step away from her and you won't be harmed."

Dante was just working on a smart retort when he felt a heat wave erupt abruptly behind him; one of the other men must have made a move for Robin. Reaching for his weapons, Dante felt a chill of fear when he remembered that he had stupidly left them in the hotel room. Looked like he was going to have to improvise.

Flipping one of the tables over toward a knot of men, he broke off one of the legs and swung it toward another attacker. His reflexes weren't as fast as usual because of the alcohol, and he stumbled when one of the men kicked him hard in the gut. Glasses shattered on the floor, and one of the men made a face like he could use a lot more bran in his diet before he sent the shards flying across the room in their direction. If he had doubted their association with Solomon before, he had no illusion about their affiliation now.

Pinning Robin against a nearby wall to shield her from the glass, he gritted his teeth when the fragments buried themselves in his back. He shuddered against her when he realized that he was not in any shape to protect her at the moment with his demonic powers so dulled by alcohol. The pain was more distracting than he had expected and he was momentarily immobilized by the strength of it.

Robin ducked her head beneath one of his arms to get a better look at their attackers as if she understood his difficulty, and screams of pain accompanied the flicker of ruddy light reflected on the walls a moment later. Angry at himself as much as anyone, Dante spun back to face the last couple of goons and finished them off quickly with his makeshift mace, the nauseating crack of bones breaking alleviating some of his pent up emotions. The last man fell just as quickly as the rest, and he only stopped himself from beating him into a bloody pulp because of Robin's insistent tug on his sleeve.

She pulled him toward the door but paused a few feet away from freedom, her eyes focusing on an empty table in the corner of the room. Dante couldn't see anything suspicious about the table, but he indulged her instincts for the moment—they were probably far more reliable than his in his current state. Shaking her head, she continued toward the door and he followed without looking back.

They were outside running down the street before Dante felt his rage start to burn away. Staggering to a stop beside her when she paused to catch her breath, he managed to catch her eye. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she replied, glancing back at the bar. "But I have the strangest feeling. Like deja vu."

"Was that why you stopped back there?"

She nodded. "I felt as if someone was watching me. But there was no one there."

Thinking of his weird daydream about Lucifer, Dante frowned.

But to his surprise, she said, "I know it doesn't make sense, but when I looked at that table in the corner, I expected to find Amon sitting there. The feeling was so strong that I was actually shocked when I saw that the table was empty."

"You're probably just imagining him glaring at me for letting you get into that situation," Dante sighed.

"That's not it," she said firmly. "But I don't have a good answer either." Tilting her head at him, she asked, "Can I look at your back?"

Dante shrugged. "It's already healing. Don't worry about it."

Her expression darkening, she asked, "Are you going to be okay, Dante?"

He knew without asking that she wasn't talking about his physical condition anymore. Chuckling at her insistence on getting a straight answer from him on this point, he said finally, "What are you talking about? I'm indestructible."

Her frown clearly broadcast her doubt, but she followed him when he started walking again, his feet leading them down a shortcut from his childhood before he realized what he was doing. "Where are we going?" she asked, snatching at his coat instinctively when she tripped over an exposed root hidden by a layer of dry leaves.

"Back to the B and B," Dante replied as he righted her on her feet. "I used to cut through these woods all the time as a kid; this path leads right up to the gardens behind the house. Maybe we can avoid more Solomon goons by going a back route."

"Unless they're already at the Monarch," Robin said sourly.

Dante laughed. "Way to think positive, Robin. Actually, I have a feeling that we were lucky to be ambushed back there. I don't think they expected you to show up at the bar, so I don't think they were really prepared for an assault. Hopefully they'll be a little more cautious now."

The path was overgrown, but Dante still remembered it well enough to find it again when it disappeared among weeds and drifts of leaves. Nevertheless, he knew it wasn't easy for Robin in her dress and he deliberately slowed his pace to accommodate her frequent stops for untangling the fabric from branches, and actually picked her up at one point to carry her over a small stream.

He knew they were getting close when the ground began sloping sharply upward and he reached back and snatched her hand to help her up the last several feet. The ground was rocky and less stable than he remembered it, but he saw where all the rock had come from when they finally reached the crest of the hill; a good portion of the stone fence lining the back of the garden had crumbled and fallen down the hillside.

Brushing himself off and leading Robin through a broken gate, Dante looked up at the house ahead and found himself hesitating. Robin walked past him and sat down on a stone bench, picking leaves and brush out of her skirts. Shifting his attention to the dilapidated garden around them, he felt a twinge of disappointment that the flowerbeds and garden paths had fallen into such disrepair.

"This used to be my favorite place in the garden," he found himself saying, the words floating wistfully on the cool night air. "When those shrubs were alive, they were tall enough to hide this entire corner from the house, and Vergil and I would meet back here to spar. Mom forbid us to fight with real blades, but she couldn't see us from the house and she rarely came back into the gardens, so we could get away with just about anything. And we did too, as I recall."

He paused when he felt her avid attention on him. "What?"

"It's nice to know that you have some good memories of your brother."

Dante shook his head and sat down on the crumbled remains of a pillar, his nostalgia swiftly evaporating. "Maybe a few, but he's managed to ruin most of them. I think he actually likes being hated."

Robin shivered, hugging her slender arms to herself. "That can't be true. Everyone wants to be loved."

"Not Vergil. He's never let anyone close to him—probably because he thinks it would make him weak to be loved by someone. And he can't stand weakness. All that has ever interested him is power." His hands clenching on the rough pillar beneath him, Dante focused on the cracks traversing the garden path, imagining his brother's smug face in the jagged lines. Stamping a boot on the cracks hard enough to break the stone, he continued tartly, "The funny thing is that he always ends up involving other people in his schemes. He refuses to associate with anyone, but despite his individualistic attitude he never achieves his goals completely on his own. He uses other people like pawns on a chessboard, manipulating them and moving them around until he gets what he wants, and when he's done he throws them all away."

Leaning forward intently, his impromptu confession began picking up speed as he continued, "But the thing that really burns me up is that he always comes out of it all unscathed. Somehow the people he uses are the ones who end up suffering for his sins every time. He tricks you into blaming yourself for what he's done. He could rob you and make you think you asked him to take everything you own, could murder you and convince you that you had decided to commit suicide before...rape you and make you think it was your fault." Sighing, Dante stared at the broken stone beneath his boots.

"I know it bothers you that we hate each other so much, Robin, but your worries are wasted on him. Our relationship is never going to change." Shaking off his melancholy, he glanced back at the shadowy hulk of the house that both was and wasn't the house he had grown up in. "We should get inside. It's getting cold out here."

------------

"Why did I let you convince me to come here?" Amon lifted a glass of amber liquid to his lips, his severe frown dissolving for a moment as he took a drink.

"Because it was an excellent idea," Nagira replied with a smile plastered over his features. "We've been all over this town twice already. If your girl's here, she's hidden away somewhere, and we're going to have to get a little more creative." Raising his own glass, he added, "And I don't know about you, but alcohol certainly makes me more imaginative."

Glaring at his half brother, Amon ground out, "I know she's here somewhere. I can feel it."

Nagira rolled his eyes, "I never said she wasn't. Damn, you're temperamental..." Gesturing to Amon's drink, he added, "Drink up. I'm ordering you another. You need to relax or you're going to implode."

Sipping at his drink, Amon decided to ignore Nagira entirely. He was growing increasingly restless and uneasy with every hour they spent in this strange town, and conversing with Nagira was doing nothing to ease his frustration. Though he had now been searching for Robin longer now than he had searched for his daughter, he had never lost hope that she was alive somewhere and could be found. His connection to her was faint, but still active, and though his sense of her emotions and physical state was vague at best, he knew that she was alive.

No one in the town seemed to remember her ever showing up there, nor did they remember any of the others who had been traveling with Robin. Amon found that lack of awareness suspicious. Dante and Vergil were distinctive enough to easily stand out in a crowd, and he found it difficult to believe that no one would have remembered them if they had been there—which left him with the uneasy question of whether they were still with her or not. And if they weren't with her, then was she alone? Had she been captured by Lucifer?

Amon shifted his unfocused gaze across the smoky bar and was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the young woman approaching their table until she spoke. "Excuse me," she said in a deceptively dulcet voice; Amon could hear the underlying command in her tone and his fingers brushed over the butt of his gun under the table as he looked up at her.

She was the definition of petite—both short and slender—but one of her delicate hands was resting on the strap of a bazooka that nearly matched her in height. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but her lips were curved into a friendly smile that was disarming despite the contrast between her sweet features and the array of weaponry strapped about her shoulders and slung around her narrow waist.

Rising to his feet and gallantly pulling out a chair for her, Nagira cooed, "Why, hello. What can we do for you, Miss?"

Her smile tightening, she glanced at the chair and then back at Amon. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions.

Doing a terrible job of hiding his disappointment, Nagira plopped back down in his seat; he was still smiling, though the expression was a bit strained. "Well, we'd be happy to answer any questions you might have, right Amon?"

Glaring at Nagira for carelessly giving away his name, Amon asked sternly, "What kind of questions?"

She removed her sunglasses, feathery strands of black hair shivering around her heart-shaped face as she shook her head. Light glinted in her eyes--one of them brown and the other green--as she met his gaze; there was definitely something odd about her. "You two don't fit in here any more than I do. I'm in this town investigating some reports of bizarre phenomena in the area. I thought you might be here for the same reason."

"Not exactly," Amon said carefully, relieved that Nagira was watching him closely and would hopefully follow his lead. "But I am certainly interested in bizarre phenomena."

Shifting the weapon on her shoulder uncomfortably, the woman glanced around the bar before sliding down into the seat Nagira had already offered with a sigh. "I've been here three days, but no one is willing to talk about anything unusual. The report that made me decide to come here was from an elderly gentleman who lived down the street, right across from those ruins overlooking the town. He had a heart attack just before I arrived, and I haven't been able to get a straight answer from anyone around here about his death." Tapping a gloved finger on the table, she added, "Frankly, I was about ready to give up and go home, but I just can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong with this town."

Amon exchanged a glance with Nagira. "You don't look like a cop," Nagira pointed out, turning his empty glass lazily in his hands. "What are you doing investigating the reports about this town in the first place?"

Smiling thinly, she adjusted the gun on her shoulder. "I'm a bounty hunter. My specialty is hunting demons, and the weird vibes I'm getting from this town have demonic influence written all over them."

"You? A demon hunter?" Nagira laughed, but stopped short when she focused a frigid glare on him.

As unlikely as her choice of profession seemed, Amon was inclined to believe her. She had just the right amount of hatred in her voice when she talked about demons to make him believe she could have chosen her career based on a grudge. And besides that, she certainly had the kind of otherworldly quality that he imagined was a prerequisite if you wanted to run with Dante and Trish's crowd.

Leaning forward over the table far enough that Nagira perked up in order to get a better look at what her low-cut white shirt was revealing, she said with liquid smooth tact, "So, I told you my story. Why don't you two tell me what you're doing here?"

Though he was reluctant to bring her into his confidence based on nothing more than her sweet demeanor, Amon felt as if he had to give her something. "We're looking for someone."

"Someone who disappeared in this town?" she asked eagerly.

"Possibly. We're not sure if she even made it this far."

Glancing at Amon with an expression that immediately made him nervous, Nagira asked, "Hey, didn't you say there was some kind of demon after her?"

For someone who made a living as a lawyer and had spent a number of years operating an underground railroad for runaway witches, Nagira could be amazingly indiscreet at times. Amon tried desperately to think of a way to salvage Nagira's admission without making the slip seem more important than it was.

"I knew it!" the bounty hunter exclaimed before he could say a word. "I just knew you two were somehow connected to whatever is going on in this town. I'll bet anything that the demon who kidnapped your friend is the one responsible for whatever is going on in this town."

"We don't know that she was kidnapped by a demon," Amon pointed out stubbornly.

"No, but we're running out of other explanations, aren't we, Amon?" Nagira snapped, fixing Amon with a brother-knows-best glare. "You have to admit she has a point, and it's obvious she knows more about tracking down demons than we do."

The fact that Amon had no argument for that point annoyed him greatly. Still glaring at Nagira, he asked the woman, "How do we know we can trust you?"

Shrugging, she countered, "How do I know I can trust you?"

Amon glared at her silently, hoping she realized just how serious he was about this.

She laughed at his serious expression, but seemed to get the unspoken point he was trying to make anyway. "The answer is that I don't. Neither of us does. But, I think we're both at our wit's end at the moment looking for something that doesn't want to be found. I'm more than willing to help you find your lost friend if she'll lead me to my demon prey."

"That's incredibly generous," Nagira commented with a wary look at Amon.

"Yes. It is," Amon agreed. "I suppose you expect us to pay you."

Shaking her head, she replied with a smile, "That would be nice, but I'm not the kind of person you seem to think I am. I'm a bounty hunter, but I'm not heartless. I hunt demons for a living because they all deserve to die and I'm willing to do pro bono work if it means ridding this world of one more monster."

Though he still wasn't sure about her motivation in helping them, the oblique hatred in her voice for all things demonic reassured him of her general intentions, at least. "Fine. But I won't hesitate to kill you if you do anything to put her in more danger."

"Amon!" Nagira cried disapprovingly.

But the woman didn't even blink at his threat. "I'd like to see you try," she said with a grin, but her expression sobered as she continued, "But, honestly, I don't blame you. Your friend must be really important to you if you're willing to make a threat like that." Offering a hand to him, she added, "You can call me Lady, by the way."

Surprised by the firmness of her handshake, though he didn't know why he hadn't expected it, Amon asked, "Is that your real name?"

"It's the only name I go by," she replied cryptically, shifting her attention to Nagira who didn't shake her hand, but leaned forward and kissed her knuckles instead.

Grinning suavely, he said, "My name is Syunji Nagira. And I, for one, think your name suits you perfectly."

Lady snatched her hand out of his grasp and raised an eyebrow at Amon. "So, how much do you know about this demon who's after your friend?"

Amon considered his response, but decided he had nothing to lose by revealing what little he knew. "His name is Lucifer and he claims to be the master of all demons."

Her eyes sparking with excitement, she leaned even further over the table. Whistling softly, she commented, "Your friend must be one interesting person to get caught up with demon like that."

"She is."

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Lady leaned back in her chair and mused, "But I have a hard time believing this demon's as important as he says. Most demons act like they're king of the world, but they usually turn out to be small time. Do you know why this one's after her?"

His mouth open to respond, Amon was distracted by a sudden burst of emotion so irresistible that he forgot that he had been about to speak. Refocusing all his attention on searching the bar for the source of the connection that had sprung to life within him, his eyes settled on the door, fully expecting to find Robin standing there, green eyes looking directly at him and smiling gently. He stood up, trying desperately to hold on to the feeling so that he could follow it and find her, he whimpered softly when the vivid connection vanished with a painful abruptness. Feeling empty and utterly alone, Amon stared at the door blankly for several moments, unable to even think.

"Amon?" Nagira cried. "What the hell?"

"What's going on?" Lady asked, drawing a gun from a holster on her hip.

Sitting down when his heart rate had slowed to a reasonable pace and trying to ignore the painful sense of debilitating disappointment, Amon replied faintly, "I sensed her. For a moment, I was sure she was right here...in this room."

"Who? Your friend?" Lady asked, reluctantly putting her gun away when she saw that they were in no immediate danger and looking at Nagira for more information when Amon refused to respond.

"He has some kind of connection with her," Nagira explained. Leaning toward Amon, he asked softly, "Was she alone? Was that guy you ordered to protect her around?"

Amon had been so preoccupied with his sense of Robin that he hadn't paid much attention to anything else, but now that he thought about it he did remember sensing Dante as well. "Yes. Wherever they are, it seems that Dante is still with her." The realization was somewhat of a relief, but it did little to improve his mood with the memory of Robin's presence still so fresh in his mind.

Lady gasped and then laughed shortly. "Did you say Dante?"

Realizing that he had carelessly revealed more than he intended, Amon sighed. "You know him?"

"You could say that. We've worked together in the past." Shaking her head, she said, "This is turning out to be one interesting job."

Hearing that she was a friend of Dante's reassured Amon of her trustworthiness, at least, though the connection raised its own questions. Deciding the questions could wait until later, he said, "We have to find her quickly. I had the feeling she was in danger."

"We'll find her." Nagira patted Amon's hand in a sickening expression of brotherly concern.

"Yeah," Lady agreed. "And she should be easy to find if Dante's with her."

Amon raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

"If Dante's involved, all we have to do is follow the path of destruction he's left behind."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**I apologize for bringing in one more Devil May Cry character. I can hear all of you groaning right now. She won't be terribly important, but I do have a reason for bringing her in that hopefully some of you will like. **

**I tried to clear up the stuff between Dante and Trish this chapter for the most part because I have a lot of other things to talk about through before we get to the end, and their continued angst makes some of that difficult. Not that they won't still be a little angsty--it's inevitable. Hope you liked the cool (confusing) connection between Amon and Robin though. I think you'll like the answer to it all when we get there (I hope).**

**Because I'm so determined to finish this story, I'm working on the next chapter right now, and barring more technical difficulties I'm hoping to get it up before too long. Work has gotten really crazy lately, so I don't know how much mental energy I'll have left over to work on this, but I'll do my best! **

**As always, I love hearing what you thought about it all and it encourages me to keep writing, so feel free to give me your feedback. Thanks!**


	14. Taboo

**Author's Note:**

**This turned out to be a rather Vergil-centric chapter, though I hadn't originally intended it to be that way. I guess it was inevitable with the subject matter. I won't say too much, but if anyone was having doubts about Vergil's real problem, then this chapter should clear things up. Hope no one is offended by it, but I do want to warn people up front that there is a hint of twincest in this chapter. Vergil is definitely messed up, but I think most of his problems stem from this one thing that he can't seem to come to terms with.**

**Anyway, I hope you'll stick with me because the next chapter will have some action and some big answers as well. And just about all of our characters will make an appearance.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Taboo**

Draining her cup of coffee, Doujima complained, "I don't know about any of you, but I'm getting really sick of this dreary little town." She slammed her cup down on the table and peered out the window onto the empty street outside. "We've been here two days already, and we haven't found a single clue to lead us to Lucifer."

Tearing open a packet of sugar, Karasuma agreed, "I know. I'm starting to wonder if coming here was such a good idea in the first place. I have this restless feeling that we've walked into a trap, and yet other than the Solomon agents who attacked Robin and Dante on our first night here, we've found nothing at all dangerous about this place. Does that seem strange to anyone else?"

Sakaki shrugged, swallowing his last bite of pancake. "What seems strange to me is that Michael and I planned on walking to a nearby town to look for computer parts yesterday, but somehow we ended up spending half the day wandering around a field for absolutely no reason."

Smiling coyly, Doujima poured herself another cup of coffee. "I thought that was because you two have no direction sense whatsoever."

"I'm not so sure," Karasuma said pensively, raising her coffee cup to her lips but not drinking. Steam danced above the cup stirred by her breath as she sighed. "Trish and I tried to leave the town too and ended up getting sidetracked. I may not know much about how demons work, but I'm starting to doubt all of these coincidences."

Fiddling with the remains of his omelet, Michael looked up at her curiously. "Are you saying that Lucifer might have something to do with it? Do you think that he's preventing us from leaving?"

Karasuma shrugged. "I don't know what I'm saying. Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

Shivering and quickly gulping more hot coffee, Doujima tried not to think about the desperation of their situation. She did not want to live out the rest of her days in a tiny little spec of a town like this one; it didn't even have a department store, let alone the kind of high-class fashion boutiques where she chose to shop. Making a face as she swallowed the terrible coffee, she wondered how long she could survive without Starbucks. She was already pissed that she had missed the release of the new flavor of frappuccino in Japan: mango green tea with caramel.

"Speaking of coincidences," Doujima said lightly, "Robin has been acting kind of odd lately." Michael immediately shifted his attention to her, but she ignored his cautionary glare.

"Why do you say that?" Karasuma asked.

"Well," Doujima continued, glancing at Sakaki who quickly looked away, proving his cowardice. "Last night we were playing poker in the boys' room."

Rolling her eyes, Karasuma muttered, "What is this, summer camp?"

Continuing despite Karasuma's comment, Doujima said, "And it was the weirdest thing... Robin guessed everyone's cards."

"Guessed their cards?" Karasuma raised an eyebrow. "You mean she won? I never would have pegged her as a poker player, but I'm not sure I see what's so shocking about that."

"No," Doujima answered quickly. "Robin wasn't even playing, but at one point she warned Michael not to raise his bet because Sakaki had a full house. She had been reading a book and wasn't even watching us play before that point, so I don't know how she could have known what he had in his hand. So we started quizzing her and she knew exactly what cards we all had in our hands."

"I told you before," Michael protested before Karasuma could reply. "It probably just has something to do with her powers developing. Remember how she knew about the attack in the airport before it happened?"

Karasuma nodded. "As strange as it seems, I think Michael's answer is probably right. Who knows what kind of things she can do now? It isn't all that surprising that she is developing a skill like foresight as well." Frowning, she added, "Though I wouldn't wish an ability like that on anyone. Especially someone as kind as Robin."

Considering Karasuma's statement silently, Doujima looked out the window again and wondered what it would be like to see the future. She could predict the next fashion trends, or what stock to invest in, but she imagined that the gift didn't work that way anyway. And what would Robin do if she knew that someone she cared about was going to die? Would she tell them, even if she knew there was nothing she could do to save them?

Doujima decided she agreed with Karasuma and almost every movie she had ever seen about prescience. Being able to predict the future was a bad idea entirely. But still, it might have been nice if Robin could tell them what they were supposed to do next.

"Where is Robin this morning, anyway?" Sakaki asked, startling Doujima out of her thoughts.

"At the church," Karasuma said. "Trish saw her leaving early this morning and followed her to make sure she was safe."

"Why does she always go off on her own?" Michael said with a heavy helping of frustration in his voice. "Doesn't she know she's in danger?"

"Maybe we're not giving her enough credit," Doujima commented. "Everyone else seems to be convinced that she's the most powerful person alive—maybe she really can take care of herself."

Her features set in an expression of maternal concern, Karasuma replied, "I hope you're right, Yurika."

-----------

The church was empty and comfortingly silent. Closing her eyes, Robin lost herself in the rhythm of prayers, her mind floating somewhere above the meditative state of repetitive Latin phrases as she pleaded with the heavens for a sign--as well as the wisdom to recognize the sign when it appeared.

Her instincts told her that Lucifer was somewhere close by, but he was keeping himself hidden and biding his time. She couldn't figure out what he was waiting for, but she had a feeling that understanding his motivation was the key to finding him. He was searching for his body just like they were, but she imagined that he had a better idea of where to start looking than they did. Why hadn't he found it yet? She knew that he must have still been looking, because they would know if he had managed to find it—he had already said that he intended to use her in his plans as soon as he had regained his true power.

Morning sun was pouring through the stained glass windows when Robin finally opened her eyes again. She had woken up early and walked down to the church for morning prayers, slipping out before someone could lecture her about going off on her own. Though she appreciated their concern, she felt stifled by her companions' constant worry; she had a hard time thinking when they were hovering over her every moment of the day.

Sitting back in the pew and lifting the kneeler, Robin sighed contentedly, thoroughly enjoying the peaceful quiet. A loud creak from the back of the church broke the silence, and she turned halfway in her seat when she heard the snap of boots against the floor. Allowing the wooden door to swing shut behind him, Vergil walked through the vestibule and into the church leisurely, pale blue eyes sweeping over wooden arches and rows of empty pews before finally settling on her.

She would have expected him to look entirely out of place in a church, but she supposed that Vergil fit the environment in his fine blue coat and soft leather far better than Dante would; though neither of them belonged in a place of worship with their demon heritage, Vergil could at least manage to walk into a church without immediately looking like a heathen or a vagrant. Personally, Robin felt that either of them would have been welcome regardless of their ancestry—God loved everyone equally, after all—but she knew that not everyone would agree with her opinion.

Uncertain why he was there, Robin watched silently as he paced down the center aisle and regarded every aspect of the lofty space with an aloof expression. He paused beside her pew, his eyes focused on the altar and his expression introspective and unapproachable. Something about him always made her nervous, but she refused to let his unshakable self-assurance make her doubt herself.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked faintly, unable to come up with a better explanation for why he would come to such a place.

His eyes darted toward her, but his expression did not change. "No." His lips twisting into a wry smile, he added, "Unlike the rest of you who seem to be content to simply set up house in this town and laze about all day, I'm still working toward our original goal. I'm looking for Lucifer's body."

Ignoring his insult, Robin followed his gaze back to the front of the church. "Do you think it's here?"

"I don't know. I've delayed coming here thus far, but I have no excuse to continue avoiding it now that we have failed to find clues anywhere else," he answered evenly, approaching the altar without a shred of reverence in his posture. "Sealing ultimate evil within the image of that which is considered holy is a common trick."

Robin sprang to her feet and followed after him mostly to make certain that he didn't do anything disrespectful. Despite his often blatant rudeness, he was relatively mannered and polite on a superficial level and she didn't think he would do anything to deface the sanctuary, but she didn't want to take the risk. "If his body really is buried here, then perhaps they thought that it would be safer sealed within the protection of a holy place."

A small smile curved his lips as he glanced back at her, but he remained silent as he climbed the steps and approached the altar. Robin followed him uncertainly after bowing briefly on the first step, her skirts dragging over the marble floor. The church was elaborately decorated, the statues of saints lining the alcoves on the back wall of the sanctuary beneath a mural painted and gold leafed far above. Robin had always preferred simpler churches with minimal decoration, but she had to admit that the statues and paintings were all quite beautiful.

Pausing in front of the altar, Vergil's eyes narrowed as he traced his fingers over the words inscribed into the front edge. "An interesting choice for inspiration," he said softly, his fingers lingering on the marble surface. "Don't you think?"

Blinking at him uncertainly, Robin stepped closer to get a better look at the carved letters. "That's not Latin," she said in surprise. "It's Italian."

"E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. 'We then emerged to see again the stars.'" Vergil translated for her though she certainly didn't need the translation to understand it. "A quote from Dante and my namesake, The Divine Comedy," he continued, his expression unbearably smug, though she didn't think his arrogance was directed at her. "What is it doing in a church?"

Robin didn't know much about the famous poem, but if Dante and Vergil were named after the characters in it, then the quote was a very odd coincidence indeed. "What do you think it means?" she asked in a hushed voice as if they were sharing a secret.

Regarding her with a weighing gaze as though he was surprised that she had even bothered to ask him, Vergil said in a voice like a literature professor lecturing his student, "The quote is the last line of the section describing hell. At this point in the story, Dante and Virgil have just climbed out of the underworld through an opening in the earth created by Lucifer's fall from heaven." He began pacing slowly around the altar, his fingertips dragging over the marble surface as he walked. "With the memory of hell fresh in their minds, they look up to see the stars, the image representative of their journey away from sin and confusion and closer to heaven."

Though she knew she should be wary not to trust Vergil, Robin found herself gazing at him in awe; something about the moment had the feeling of great significance, the powerful symbolism of the poem colored by what she knew of the men who shared names with their counterparts in the story. She found it unnerving that Vergil could recite the symbolism of the story without believing in its truth; she imagined that if he had been the Virgil in the story, he would have been happy to stay in hell and would have had no desire to accompany Dante out of it.

Her eyes wandering around the church as she considered his explanation, Robin noted the gold sparks of stars painted in the mural on the curved ceiling. Frowning, she walked around the altar in the opposite direction and met Vergil on the other side. His eyes were focused on the velvety rug beneath his feet. Taking a step backward, he lifted the tasseled edge of the rug with his toe and kicked it back. An old stone was hidden beneath it, more letters scribed into its aged surface, though these were written in Latin. Crouching down beside the stone, Vergil began to translate. "Here below is the enemy of man."

Robin shivered. "Do you think he's under the church?"

The sound of someone clearing his throat made her jump, but Vergil merely returned the rug to its place and stood up with fluid grace. A young priest stood behind him, framed within the doorway on the other side of the altar. "Hello. Can I help you?" the priest asked casually.

Vergil hesitated only a moment, regarding the priest with a discerning gaze. "I'm a historian," he lied smoothly, though Robin didn't know why he felt the need to hide their reason for being there. "I'm writing a book about churches built in the same period as this one. I hope you don't mind me taking a look around."

His smile somewhat strained, the priest replied, "Of course not. We leave the church open during the day, but there are a lot of valuable artifacts on display here. I have to keep an eye out for thieves. I'm sure you understand."

"Certainly."

"I don't know much about the church history myself, but the grounds keeper has been here for years. I could ask him to give you a guided tour, if you're interested."

"Thank you. Perhaps I will take you up on your offer later." Vergil bowed his head ever so slightly and then nudged Robin ahead of him with a firm touch on her shoulder. "I'm afraid we really must be leaving. We have another appointment in a nearby town."

The priest appeared to be nearly as confused as she was, but she allowed Vergil to push her down the aisle toward the back of the church. She was so baffled already that she was hardly startled when she saw Trish standing just inside the door, leaning back against the wall.

"Looking for religion, Vergil?" Trish asked tartly when they were closer.

Trying to defuse a disagreement before it happened, Robin asked, "What are you doing here, Trish?"

"I followed you here this morning," she said without taking her eyes off Vergil.

Robin stopped in her tracks, ignoring the weight of Vergil's cool hand on her shoulder. "Why?"

Her eyes still focused on Vergil, Trish replied, "There are a lot of dangerous bastards in the world. I wanted to make sure none of them troubled you."

Finally releasing his grip on Robin and pushing the door open with a bored expression, Vergil commented, "I'm surprised you didn't intervene when you saw me walk through the door." Holding the door open for them and smiling darkly at her, he added, "Or perhaps you actually knew better than to interfere."

Ushering Robin through the door ahead of her, Trish snapped, "I wanted to know what you were up to."

Interrupting the argument, Robin said quickly, "We think that Lucifer's body is buried somewhere underneath the church."

Trish raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Robin nodded.

"I can't believe it." Trish turned on her heel. "Why are we leaving?"

Scowling at her, Vergil retorted, "Because we don't know how to get to it yet and the priest back there was not human."

Her jaw dropping in shock, Robin shifted her gaze back to him.

"We don't know exactly what the stakes are here," Vergil continued, "so I suggest we talk to the groundskeeper the priest mentioned and see what he knows about this church."

"But the grounds keeper is dead," Robin replied, her brows furrowed.

Vergil's pale eyes focused on her sharply. "He is? Was the priest simply trying to mislead us?"

Caught off guard, Robin blinked at him with her jaw agape. "I...don't know. Didn't he say that...?" But she knew that the priest had not said anything about the groundskeeper being dead and she had no idea why she would have thought he was dead at all. Somehow she had simply known it was true, just as she had known what cards everyone had been holding in their hands in the card game the night before. The realization troubled her.

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "He certainly said nothing about the man's demise."

"I overheard a couple men outside the church grumbling about someone's untimely heart attack," Trish offered. "They were pulling weeds in the cemetery. She could be right."

"Regardless," Vergil replied with a dismissive shrug, "We should at least go back to the house and research this church a bit more before making any rash decisions."

"Research," Trish scoffed, rolling her eyes. "That's all you ever do."

"Incorrect," Vergil said sharply. "I am the one who discovered the clues in that church, am I not? And at least I'm not wasting all my time babysitting a young woman who is more mature than most of her protectors." Turning away, Vergil began walking down the street back toward the Monarch, his coattails snapping behind him with his angry strides.

Robin watched him in wonder, unable to ignore the hint of satisfaction that had blossomed within her at his indirect compliment. She felt Trish looking at her and finally tore her gaze away from Vergil's back.

"Don't let him manipulate you, Robin," Trish murmured softly before turning to follow Vergil with a sigh.

-----------

"Not much time left now, Vergil."

Looking up from the historical record he had been perusing, Vergil regarded Lucifer with a neutral expression before returning his attention to the book. "Yes," he said blandly. "Only a few more hours until your arbitrary deadline of three days is up. What will happen if I fail to remove the seal by then, I wonder?"

"I'm sure you do," Lucifer said with a smile, perching on the other side of the desk.

"Why three days?" Vergil asked, turning a page with a flick of his wrist. "Why not four or five?"

Lucifer picked up one of the volumes stacked next to Vergil and turned it over in his slender hands. "Surely you of all people can recognize the power of symbolism."

"Ah, is that all it is?" Turning another page impatiently, Vergil glanced up at him. "How asinine."

Chuckling richly, Lucifer commented, "Is that a hint of frustration I detect in your voice, Vergil? I don't understand what you're so concerned about. You know where to find my body now. All you need to do is break the seal before midnight tonight."

Taking a deep breath, Vergil repeated, "Yes. All I need to do is break the seal."

"I have faith in your abilities...though I am a bit disappointed in your progress with your brother. Have you forgotten my other request?"

Avoiding the knowing gaze in those dark eyes, Vergil tried to focus on the words before him as he turned another page. "I might be able to make more progress on all of the tasks you have assigned me if you stopped showing up every five minutes to remind me of them."

"Very well," Lucifer tossed the book he had been flipping through back on top of the stack. "But your opportunities are running out. Take care not to waste this one."

Confused, Vergil looked up and opened his mouth to respond, but Lucifer was already gone.

A moment later, the door swung open and Dante stomped into the room with a scowl. "I hear you and Robin found something interesting in the church," Dante announced as he shoved the door shut behind him. His glare was as visceral as ever, but Vergil was so weary of the game that he hardly noticed it.

"If you're here to lecture me about breathing the same air as your beloved little bird, don't waste your breath. I didn't know she was there until I got there." Vergil finally found an entry about the church in the record and began reading swiftly, making an effort to ignore Dante as he read.

Wandering father into the room, Dante commented, "This feels familiar. Seems like we just did this a couple days ago."

Disappointed that the passage about the church was both vague and incomplete, Vergil slapped the book shut with a frown. Standing up and carrying the book back to the shelf, he replied, "Maybe that's because we did. Shall I stab you now and save us both another pointless argument?"

Dante leaned back against the shelf and peered at him curiously. "That was a little more brusque than usual. What crawled up your ass?"

His eyes flicked to Dante before he returned his attention to the shelf; something in his brother's gaze made him uneasy. "Move," he said firmly when he realized that the book belonged on the part of the shelf Dante was leaning against.

Raising an eyebrow in challenge, Dante smirked. "Make me."

Vergil considered rising to the challenge, but his sense of urgency over Lucifer's ridiculous deadline stopped him. Shaking his head, he tossed the book back on the desk and turned away.

"Is that it? I was hoping for a fight."

"I know." Vergil reached for another book and began flipping through it. "And normally I would indulge you, but I don't have the patience today."

He could feel Dante's eyes boring holes into the back of his head, but he dismissed the attention. "What have you found out?" Dante asked finally.

"The church was renovated during the time that our father lived here, but the records don't say anything about a tomb underneath it. There is nothing on the floor plan of the church either. If Lucifer's body is buried there, then they kept the secret well."

"Why are you looking for more proof? Both of us know in our guts that it's there. So...how do we get to it and renew the seal?"

Vergil shook his head. "I don't know.

"But you have a few ideas, don't you?" Dante insisted, pushing away from the shelf and walking up behind him.

"A few," Vergil admitted, tossing another useless book aside.

"Then why are you here instead of in that church testing out your theories? So the priest isn't human. So what? That's not something that would normally hold you back."

Vergil grit his teeth at the suspicion in Dante's voice. If things had been simple, then he might have agreed with him completely, but things were not simple at all. Vergil could feel Dante hovering behind him waiting impatiently for an answer, but he didn't have one to give him. Lucifer expected him to break the seal while Dante expected him to renew it. He was trapped between their wishes with less than ten hours left to find a way out of the paradox. Vergil had never been one to give into despair, but he was beginning to feel nearly powerless now—a state he loathed with all his being—subject to others' wishes and unable to even decide what he wanted anymore.

"What do you know that you aren't telling us?" Dante murmured, standing close enough for Vergil to feel his warmth against his back and his breath in the hairs on the nape of his neck. Vergil closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind. He didn't have time for this distraction!

Grabbing Vergil's arm roughly, Dante forcibly turned him around. "Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

Dante's hand burned against Vergil's bare skin—reminding him that he had taken his coat off in a fit of frustration earlier and left it draped over a chair on the other side of the room—and the fiery touch reminded him painfully of the one thing that he could never seem to forget he wanted. Wishing that he had not only left the coat on, but also chosen to wear something more substantial underneath it than his leather jerkin, Vergil tried to remember what Dante had originally asked him.

"Are you shivering?" Dante asked wonderingly, his voice dropping into the kind of sultry tone Vergil imagined he used for pillow talk—but that was a dangerous thought and he knew that Dante had only slipped into that tone of voice out of habit anyway. Venturing to meet Dante's eyes, Vergil was startled by the contemplative expression on his brother's features. His lips pursed, Dante loosened his grip on Vergil's arm and lightly traced fingertips over his bicep and down to his elbow.

Vergil tried to cover the tremor that ran through his body by pulling his arm out of Dante's grasp entirely and taking a step away, a scowl darkening his features. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Damn, you are flustered, aren't you?" Dante breathed, with an expression that suggested Vergil had just confirmed some private theory of his.

"This conversation is a waste of time." Vergil turned back to the desk and reached for a book, not even looking at the pages as he flipped through them and not noticing until he was halfway through that it was one of the books he had already searched. "If you're so eager for action, then feel free to dig up Lucifer's body by yourself. But I want to have a little more information before we commit ourselves to whatever's in that church."

Thoroughly trying to ignore Dante, he didn't turn to investigate when he heard a rustle of fabric, but he was forced to pay attention when he felt the worn leather of Dante's coat fall down around his shoulders. Dante slid in front of him and leaned back against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, observing Vergil closely. Unable to even speak, Vergil watched him with a hint of dread, wondering exactly what he had in mind.

A small smile tugged at Dante's lips as he leaned forward, placing a hand on the crown of Vergil's head and dragging his fingers back toward himself, essentially forcing Vergil's hair into a rough mirror of his own hairstyle. Peering out at him from beneath a ragged fringe of white as Dante leaned back against the desk again with a grin, Vergil tried to focus on something other than the fear pounding through his veins. Was it possible that Dante had figured out his secret? After years of awkward moments and unexplainable tension, had Dante finally realized that Vergil's true feelings for him were anything but simple—and anything but hatred?

"Have you lost your mind?" Vergil whispered, his grip on the book tightening to the point that the cover began to bend backward.

"I sure as hell hope so," Dante murmured, his expression far too serious for Vergil's liking.

Unable to stand the scrutiny any longer, Vergil took a step away, sweeping the coat off his shoulders and flinging it back at Dante. Trying to slow his pulse and wondering how he had unraveled so quickly, Vergil shoved his book back on the shelf without any regard to where it actually belonged and tried to clear his mind.

"What? I thought you liked my coat," Dante said acidly. "You certainly seemed to like it enough when you spent the night all cuddled up beneath it back in Japan."

Vergil repressed a shudder and finally managed to focus his eyes on the spines of the books, forcing himself to read them simply to keep himself under control. His attempt was only half-successful until he read the name of the book at the end of the shelf and a thrill of hope rushed through him. Pulling The Divine Comedy down eagerly, he began flipping through the pages, searching for the quote he had found in the church.

Though Dante was still talking, he was no longer listening, his eyes focused entirely on an envelope nestled between the pages where the quote appeared. The envelope was sealed, but a note was scrawled over the flap in flowing script that he immediately recognized as his own handwriting. Unable to breathe, Vergil quickly scanned the note.

"Blood is the key," the note read. "Bring Robin. Open this inside."

Vergil slipped the envelope into his pocket and returned the book to the shelf with such aplomb that Dante stopped in the middle of his tirade and simply stared at him. "You're right," he said shortly, turning back to face Dante. "I'm not going to find any answers here. The only way to figure out what we're supposed to do next is to explore that church."

Regarding him as if he thought Vergil was now the one whose sanity was in question, Dante said cautiously, "Okay... What changed your mind?"

Drawing a deep breath, Vergil retorted, "Does it matter?"

"I want to know."

Vergil shrugged. "You convinced me."

"Right," Dante said without hiding how little he believed Vergil's statement.

"We should go to the church immediately."

Now Dante was the one who was flustered, obviously thrown by Vergil's sudden about face. "Now? What about everyone else?"

"This is a task that only you and I can accomplish. It's better that the others stay here so that Lucifer is forced to divide his attention—" Vergil caught himself abruptly, "if he's watching us right now at all."

"Why do I feel like you're trying to trick me?"

Vergil sighed. "Because you don't trust me. But I don't need your trust—just your cooperation."

His eyes narrowing, Dante asked darkly, "Are you sure that's all you need?"

Scooping his coat up off the chair and sliding it over his shoulders, Vergil pointedly ignored the implication of Dante's words. He was not prepared to deal with that particular reality at the moment. "We should bring Robin as well," he added on his way to the door.

"What?" Dante caught his arm in an eerie repetition of his earlier action. "No. We're not involving her in this."

"She is already involved," Vergil hissed, glaring back at him. "And she will be the first person Lucifer goes after if he figures out what we're doing."

"You keep talking about Lucy as if he's hanging around and waiting for us to make a move. Why would he do that? If he knows where his body is, why hasn't he recovered it already?"

Vergil frowned. "Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't have the key." Registering that he had just let a fact slip that he had been intending not to bring up, Vergil quickly reached for the doorknob.

Dante pressed his palm against the door to prevent Vergil from opening it. "You seem to know an awful lot about Lucy that you didn't happen to mention before. So start talking."

"About what?" Vergil shouted, unable to repress the intense emotional reaction he felt bubbling up inside of him. Dealing with Lucifer's constant prodding on one side and everyone else's constant doubts on the other had been exhausting enough, but the thought of Dante finally uncovering his deepest secret had pushed him over the edge. "Just what do you think that I'm hiding from you?" Vergil heard the hysteria in his voice, but found that he could do nothing to suppress it. "Do you think I'm colluding with our enemy—double crossing all of you? Why would I do that? What would I possibly have to gain from it?"

"I don't know," Dante sneered. "Why don't you tell me?"

Vergil threw up his hands. "So, that's it? You're just accusing me of being a traitor without any proof?" Normally that wouldn't have bothered him—he would have expected it, in fact—but now, with his emotions frayed and his control completely undone he could do nothing but react with raw emotion.

Crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head, Dante said, "I don't need proof to know you're a traitor. It's who you are."

Vergil took a deep breath and tried in vain to calm himself. "Not this time," he said softly.

"Then explain where you're getting your information." Dante leaned a shoulder against the door to prevent Vergil's escape.

Sighing, Vergil considered his options. "I had...a dream," he began cautiously, unable to come up with a better explanation that Dante would believe. "Normally I would dismiss it, but something about it seemed too real. I saw the church and the stone behind the altar. And Lucifer." He glanced at Dante to see if he was buying the lie, but Dante's expression was impossible to read—even for someone as experienced at reading his expressions as Vergil. "I don't think Lucifer can reach his body without us."

Dante looked away and smiled wryly while Vergil found himself unable to look anywhere but at those lips that seemed to always want to curve into one of his damnable grins. "I had a dream about Lucifer too," Dante said finally meeting Vergil's eyes.

"Oh?" Vergil asked, stunned by Dante's admission but trying desperately to hide his surprise.

"Yeah." Dante stepped away from the door, his hands dropping to his sides. "I thought I was just drunk, but it was a little too detailed to be explained away by alcohol." He took another lazy step toward Vergil. "He told me some interesting things." Dante's voice was dropping into that throaty growl again and Vergil had to struggle to hold his ground when Dante took another step and was standing nearly nose-to-nose with him. "Things about you."

Vergil's eyes widened despite his attempts to hide his reaction. Had Lucifer truly been willing to risk exposing him in order to push him into facing his secret desires? Smiling smugly to cover his unease, Vergil replied in a whisper, "And you believed him? Surely even you can recognize tactics aimed at sowing dissension between us."

"Oh, he didn't say anything about you being a traitor. He just gave me an unusual suggestion. I wasn't even going to test it out, but then I started to wonder..." Dante grinned coldly. Leaning even closer, he breathed the next words over Vergil's lips. "And he was right. Your reaction is shocking."

Vergil pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him back a step, trying to hide what a difficult time he was having breathing. "Do you even know what kind of reaction you're trying to provoke?" he demanded bitterly.

Shaking his head, Dante retorted, "I know what kind of reaction I'm getting."

"Do you?" Rage filling him, Vergil shoved him back against the door hard enough that it rattled. His hand clenched in Dante's shirt, Vergil screamed in his face, "Do you understand what Lucifer wanted you to do to me?"

For perhaps the first time in his life, Dante was speechless, his eyes wide as Vergil began to fall apart before him.

Knowing that he would regret it, Vergil found himself leaning inexorably toward his brother, his eyes still locked with Dante's but his mind focused somewhere else entirely, focused on lips parted slightly in surprise—perhaps in horror. All of his years of control and restraint crumbled inside of him and he could no longer stop himself or deny his temptation even though he knew it would only lead to disaster.

Their lips met and Vergil's eyes closed abruptly, his entire awareness suddenly refocused on that forbidden touch. Subject to the whims of desires no longer shackled by good sense, Vergil lost himself in sensation, hungry lips and tongue eagerly demanding entrance to Dante's unusually reluctant mouth.

Dante threw him halfway across the room when he managed to break contact, panting to catch his breath and glaring at Vergil with every bit of his being. Trembling with need, Vergil could do nothing but gape at him helplessly and continue wanting what he knew he would never get. "What are you trying to do? Rape me too?" Dante demanded, his eyes nearly glowing with fury. "Is that how you put difficult people in their place?"

Unable to look at him any longer, Vergil closed his eyes and felt his resolve drain away. Lucifer had won this battle, at least. He could almost imagine the self-satisfied smile on the bastard's face as he watched Dante reject him. "I didn't rape her," Vergil whispered, his voice sounding ancient and so very tired, "and I could never...ever rape you." He turned away, holding his arms across his stomach to quell the gathering nausea.

After a long silence, Dante murmured in a fragile voice, "You're serious, aren't you? This isn't just another game."

"Go away," Vergil rasped.

"What?"

"Leave!" Vergil tried to focus his eyes on something but they kept blurring. "I want to be alone."

"Vergil..." Dante's voice actually sounded regretful, as if he doubted his harsh reaction, but that was an opening Vergil didn't need right now.

"Get out!"

At last the door opened and closed and Vergil swayed on his feet, catching himself against the bookcase as a roar of frustration erupted from his throat.

"I'm proud of you, Vergil," Lucifer murmured in his ear, dragging fingernails down his spine. "Only one more task to complete now. And once you've finished it, I vow that you will have a place of honor at my side."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Well, there it is. I hinted around enough at it that most of you probably figured it out by now, but I'd still like to hear what you think. I know it doesn't excuse the fact that Vergil is an asshole, but I think it explains that he started out messed up on a deeper level and can't seem to get over it even though he knows that what he wants is wrong. Oh, the angst. Feel free to tell me if you just think I'm the sick and twisted one for writing him that way. :)**

**I really liked the scene with Robin and Vergil in the church. I think their interaction is really interesting to write because Robin can't quite figure out what to think of him and Vergil doesn't seem as susceptible to her sweet little Robinness as everyone else. Or is he? We'll just have to find out… **

**To ease anyone's mind who's wondering how long I can keep this up, I wanted to tell you that the next chapter is mostly written. It just needs some work. I told you I was determined to finish this thing. One small warning on that front though is that I just got a temporary/possibly permanent promotion at work because someone is leaving and I'm essentially doing two jobs right now. So, I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep up this pace, but I'll do my best! This story has gone unfinished for too long.**


	15. Never Meant to Belong

**Author's Note:  
I don't know if I'm having a harder time writing or just getting picker, but I wrote half of this chapter twice--not because of technical difficulties but because I wasn't satisfied with it the first time around. I'm juggling a lot of characters and a lot of details at this point in the story and trying to make sure that everything will come together in the end, so I guess it only makes sense that it would be more difficult to write. **

**The first scene was the one that changed the most as I was revising it, mostly because of all the stress I've been dealing with at work, I think. I find writing to be a major stress reliever and I think that some of my concerns about being promoted and having other people under my command so to speak influenced the direction I took the scene in.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Never Meant to Belong**

Dante wanted to undo the last several minutes of his life. He didn't know what he had expected to happen, but he hadn't allowed himself to believe that Lucifer's suggestion had any merit until Vergil began proving it true before his eyes. And he, like an idiot, had surrendered carelessly to temptation, so mesmerized by the sight of his always together brother being completely undone by simple gestures and proximity that he had forgotten all restraint. The idea of taking the upper hand against Vergil was something Dante had lusted after for too long for him to keep a level head when the opportunity presented itself.

He wandered down the hallway in a daze, unable to shake the unsettling memory of that brief but searingly intense moment when he had finally realized what he had actually been asking for. How ironic that he had been the last one to figure it out when he was the one who prided himself on his sexual prowess. Shivering, he tried to forget the fact that he had just used the word "sexual" in a thought that included his brother. But he had done worse than that already. He had, in essence, successfully seduced Vergil.

Pausing to catch his breath, Dante rested his forehead against the wall and tried to focus on the bubbly patterns within the floral wallpaper. Memories crashed through his head, fleeting touches and subtle flinches that he had noticed but never understood. How long had Vergil been looking at him and silently hungering? The thought disturbed him, and though he wanted to believe that the kiss had been only another one of Vergil's manipulative tricks, he couldn't fool himself into believing it. It had felt far too real. The tremble he had felt in Vergil's arm had been just as real, and more subtle clues were piling on top of the others until Dante could no longer even attempt to deny the truth.

He thought of Trish and wondered what the fuck that had been about. If Vergil desired him so much, then why the hell would he want to touch her? But she had said it already. "He wanted to hurt you." So was lust the only thing Vergil felt for him--or was sadism a better word? Did Vergil get his rocks off by watching him suffer? Dante slammed his fist against the wall with a growl and felt a fragment of plaster fall from the ceiling.

Shaking his head, he took a step away from the wall, glaring at the dent he had made in the sheetrock and the crack that spidered its way up to the ceiling. All these years he had been stupidly mourning for the love of a brother that had never really fit into the role, but now he felt like an even bigger idiot for ever wanting anything at all from Vergil. Being hated was easier to accept somehow than being desired.

Severely rattled by his disturbing thoughts, Dante turned and began walking down the hallway again, nearly walking right by Karasuma though she was calling his name. He didn't even react until she grabbed his arm.

"Dante. Is something wrong?" She glanced at the crack in the wall with a raised eyebrow.

He blinked at her, but had no response—at least none that he wanted to say out loud.

"I was looking for you earlier," she continued, tugging him toward the sitting room where the rest of their companions were waiting. "Where have you been?"

Dante laughed, an insane edge to the sound. Somehow he didn't think that she would react well if he told her he had been playing tonsil hockey with his twin.

Karasuma's eyes narrowed with worry when she heard his laugh, but Robin's concern quickly drew his attention away from her. Perched on the edge of a leather chair, Robin caught his gaze and reached out to him through their connection. The surge of emotion was too much for him and he looked away from her worry-filled emerald eyes before he drowned. "What are we all doing here?" he asked shortly, choosing an ugly lamp in the corner of the room to be the focus of his glare so that no one else would have to deal with the wrath.

"We want to talk about what we're going to do next," Karasuma replied, uncertainty mingling with exasperation in her voice. "Robin and Trish told us what they found in the church. This is the first real lead we've had since we got here and we all agree that we should move tonight."

Though Dante had recently been preaching the same philosophy to his brother, he doubted now that it was the right action to take, especially after Vergil's swift change of mind. If Vergil thought it was a good idea, then he had to doubt it. "Are you sure?" he asked. "We don't know what we'll find in that church."

"Are you suggesting we should just ignore our only lead? The cautious approach isn't usually your preference," Trish said sharply, and Dante met her eyes before he could think to stop the reflex. He couldn't make sense of the myriad emotions burning in her eyes, but he knew that he was responsible for many of them and the sheer scope of his recent stupidity made him feel suddenly weary.

Shifting his attention to the floor abruptly, he said in resignation, "I don't know why any of you are asking my opinion in the first place. Clearly, I'm not in charge. So, who is planning on going to check out this 'lead?'"

"We started this together," Karasuma replied with stubborn pride coloring her voice. "We should finish it the same way. Whatever happens, we all want to be there."

Dante nodded. At least that was one way to irk Vergil since he hadn't wanted anyone but Dante and Robin included. "When are we leaving?" he asked. "I'll go get my weapons."

Though he was trying not to focus on anyone in particular, he couldn't help noticing their uncertain exchange of glances. "Dante," Karasuma said quizzically. "We didn't intend to make the decision without you. If you have an objection, please make it known."

Shaking his head, Dante smiled wryly. "No. No objections. I trust your judgment right now much more than I trust my own. So just tell me what you want to do, and I'll be in the car."

More uncomfortable looks bounced back and forth across the room, this time accompanied by a few whispers, and Dante wondered what they hell they wanted from him. He sensed someone approaching him but he turned his gaze toward the ceiling and tried to appear as unapproachable as he could.

Unfortunately, Trish wasn't intimidated. "Dante," she hissed, slender fingers clutching at his arm. "Can I have a word with you?"

Feeling as if his sanity was hanging by a thread, Dante chuckled. "Sure. I'll even let you have a few sentences if you're nice."

Trish pulled him into a corner of the room—right next to the ugly lamp he had been glaring at earlier—and her fingers were really starting to feel like a claw the way they were digging into his skin even through his coat. The others were talking softly, but Trish didn't give him the chance to attempt untangling their murmured conversation.

"What is going on with you?" she demanded, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her.

Dante swallowed his queasiness, thinking of how they had barely touched in more than a week and how he had been at least as much to blame for their lack of contact over the last few days as anyone else. He had avoided her at every turn, and when he wasn't avoiding her they were both walking on eggshells— and sometimes broken glass. "Kiss me," he whispered.

Obviously thrown by his plea, she breathed, "What?"

Shifting them so that his body would block them from the view of everyone else in the room, Dante repeated, "I need you to kiss me right now."

Trish blinked at him and visibly tried to gather her thoughts. "Not until you tell me what is going on," she replied firmly.

"I'm losing my mind," he said, pressing his hands against the wall on either side of her. "I miss you, and I can't stand not being able to touch you, and my brother is a sick fucking bastard and I swear if you don't kiss me right now, I'm going to crawl out of my own skin."

Her eyes focused on him, glazed with liquid fear like an animal caught in the sights of a hunter. "What did Vergil do?"

Dante drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "It's not even what he did. It was me. I pushed him into it. I—" Leaning toward her and resting his forehead against hers, he gasped, "I need you."

"And they need you," Trish said abruptly, her voice suddenly angry.

He pulled away a fraction, startled by her change of tone.

"Those people are looking for a leader, Dante," she continued, glancing around his shoulder at the rest of the group before returning her livid glare to him. "They followed you here and they're expecting you to get them out of this place in one piece. They followed you because Amon wasn't here and they had no one else to follow, but if you don't lead, then Vergil will lead them in your place. Is that what you want?"

Barely containing his outrage, Dante retorted, "Vergil doesn't want to have anything to do with them."

Trish snatched at his coat and shook him. "It doesn't matter if he wants them or not. He has his own opinions, and they're looking for someone who is sure of himself. They'll follow him because he has a direction and because you aren't giving them any direction at all."

Dante sighed, all of his weariness returning with an extra helping of bitterness. "I don't want to be a leader."

Her eyes blazing with fury, she spat, "Dammit, Dante. Are you going to let him take the lead your whole life, or are you going to finally take a stand? Stop trying to win at his game and force him to play by your rules. Because if you can't do that—if you can't be the man I know you are—then I have no intention of ever kissing you again."

Ducking under his arm, she stalked away and took up position in the opposite corner of the room, her arms crossed over her chest and anger rising off of her like heat off a highway in June. Dante sighed to release the tension that had built up inside of him with her every word and tried to gather his thoughts.

He had tried to write new rules before, but it was true that he had still been playing the same tired old game that he and Vergil always played. Intimidation didn't work on Vergil, and though he now knew Vergil's ultimate weakness, he couldn't win by simply exploiting that imperfection either. Maybe Trish was right. It wasn't just him against his brother anymore. He was surrounded by allies, but he had been failing to take them into account ever since Vergil first came on the scene. He had played second fiddle to Amon because they were rightfully Amon's to command in the first place, but Vergil sure as hell didn't deserve the same opportunity.

He felt Robin's eyes watching him anxiously and he finally met her gaze, noticing soberly that the others seemed to have already given up on him as they quietly debated their plans. He couldn't blame them, really. Robin's compassion was all that was keeping her attention fixed on him anyway. Taking a deep breath, he shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered toward them.

Forcing a smile, he asked, "So, what's the problem here? I thought we had everything figured out."

Her eyes darting back to the others, Robin said hesitantly, "We're worried about the priest in the church. Vergil said he wasn't human."

"And he retreated because of that priest," Doujima added as if she had been arguing this point. "If he was concerned enough about him to back off, then shouldn't we be concerned?"

"Vergil retreated because he claims to have had some kind of vision about Lucifer," Dante interrupted, "and he's afraid of a trap. But trap or not, we're going to have to go in there eventually."

"A vision?" Robin echoed. "What kind of vision...?"

Dante shook his head. "I don't know. But he seems to think that Lucifer can't reach his body without us."

"What do you think?" Karasuma asked softly.

Smiling wryly, Dante answered, "I think that if Lucy really is pulling the strings, then there's nothing we can do about it anyway. If he needs us to get to his body, then he's not going to let us get away until we've done what he wants us to do."

"Then what hope do we have?" Michael frowned at his feet.

"I didn't say there wasn't any hope." Dante struggled to repress his groan of frustration; leading wasn't as easy as it looked. "If you ask me, this is an advantage. If Lucy can't reach it without us, then we have power over him. All we have to do is figure out how to keep the seal from breaking until we can send him back to hell. And the only way to figure that out is to get inside that church."

"What about the priest?" Doujima insisted. "What if he's Lucifer in disguise? Or some other nasty demon who's guarding the place?"

Crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to be patient with her, Dante replied, "Even if he is, Lucifer has had all the time in the world to oppose us already and hasn't lifted a delicate little finger. And if it's just some random demon, then I think you're forgetting that Trish and I hunt the things for a living and you have three players with demon blood on your team besides." He smirked as he gestured to Robin. "Not to mention a possible angel."

"Do you really think we have a chance of beating him?" Michael asked, his eyes lingering on Robin though her attention was still fixed on Dante.

Dante sighed. "I think that there's no point of even questioning whether or not we can win. If we don't stop him, then no one else is going to. Either we make an effort together and finish the job, or we let him have his way."

"This is ridiculous," an irritatingly familiar voice said from the doorway.

Dante's breath froze in his lungs as he shifted his eyes to look at his brother. Standing just inside the room, Vergil's eyes flicked over them, but deftly avoided coming anywhere near Dante. Other than that small concession, Vergil appeared to be completely composed, not a hair out of place or a crack in his arrogant facade. Normally, that fact would have infuriated Dante, but because he was seriously trying to listen to Trish's advice, Dante found himself smiling instead.

"So glad you could join us," he said tartly. "I'm sure we could use your help getting to Lucifer's body if you could pretend to be a team player long enough to give it."

Vergil pointedly refused to meet his gaze, focusing his attention on the ceiling above his head. "This should not even be a team strategy. You and I are the only ones capable of reaching Lucifer's body in the first place, and other than Robin, no one else needs to be involved at all."

Still smiling, Dante continued to stare at Vergil as if daring him to meet his eyes. "They have every right to be included. Frankly, I don't give a flying fuck if you want to be a part of it or not, but I'm not going into that church without them."

Flinching briefly, Vergil's eyes darted toward Dante before quickly skating away again. "Why are you so insistent on putting all of them in danger?"

"Stop talking about us as if we aren't here," Doujima snapped with glares at both of them, while Michael demanded, "And why are you so eager to include Robin in your plan?"

Dante glanced at them and considered his response. His instinct was to snap back at Vergil with an angry retort, blurting out the first hurtful, defensive words that came to mind, but he knew that Trish was wanting him to do better than that. "I told you from the beginning, that this was our show, Vergil. We've been acting as a team long before you showed up, so if you have a problem with our decisions, then you can go join up with Lucifer."

"Don't be a fool," Vergil hissed, his eyes finally settling on him with an angry weight.

"Sorry," Dante said, his grin widening. "That's the only way I know how to be."

"Like it or not," Karasuma said resolutely, standing up beside him and focusing on Vergil, "we're coming along." Her hand brushed against Dante's arm reassuringly.

Clearly unhappy, Vergil shook his head, his jaw clenched as he looked away. "Suit yourself. At least they won't have to carry your bodies far for your funeral."

"Keep crackin' jokes, asshole," Dante said venomously, unable to hold himself back any longer. "But the only funeral I'm planning on attending any time soon is Lucy's."

"Hear hear," Doujima agreed with an incongruently chipper grin.

"We should go upstairs and get our gear," Karasuma instructed, glancing back at the other witch hunters as if by her estimation all the important decisions had already been made. "And I want to change clothes too. This isn't exactly an ideal hunting outfit."

"Yeah, I could definitely use a change of clothes too," Doujima agreed, dragging Sakaki along with her as she stood up. "I want to try out my new spy-girl outfit."

Vergil closed his eyes as they all walked past him, not even flinching as Michael intentionally bumped him with his elbow. Pausing next to Dante before she followed them out the door, Robin smiled as she found his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. Dante ruffled her hair with a faint smile in response and shooed her on casually, but he felt a hint of fear when he saw how she also paused next to Vergil and waited until he finally opened his eyes to look at her before touching his shoulder lightly as she proceeded toward the door. Dante didn't know what to make of her action even when he tried to interpret her emotions, but he decided not to worry too much about it when Vergil scowled and turned to stalk out of the room without another glance back.

He didn't know if it had been exactly a victory, but Dante felt somewhat satisfied with the situation. At least he had managed to resist the temptation to turn the scene into just another childish verbal sparring match with his brother. Smiling quietly to himself, he forgot for a moment that there was still one other person with him in the room.

"Turn around."

Startled by the order, Dante turned halfway and looked back at Trish. Before he could focus on her, he felt her hands slipping around his neck and pulling his mouth down to meet hers. Clasping his hands around her waist, he continued smiling as he drank in her taste and smell, pressing her closer and following her lead in the gentle, but insistent kiss. In the back of his mind, the thought occurred to him that they were both trying to heal the wounds Vergil had caused, but he pushed the thought away quickly. Vergil had no place in his mind at the moment, and Trish deserved more from him than a man who thought about his brother when he kissed the woman he loved.

* * *

Michael shivered in his jacket as he huddled next to Karasuma, trying to stop his teeth from chattering though he couldn't decide if the shivers were caused by the chill night air or his nerves.

"Exactly how did you learn how to pick a lock?" Karasuma asked him with a disapproving shake of her head. Though he didn't know why he expected anything different from his mother-in-residence, Michael couldn't ignore the flare of annoyance her comment inspired; why did no one ever think he was capable of anything that didn't involve a computer?

"Hacking web sites isn't that different," he muttered, his eyes closed in concentration as he listened to the lock. "I've always been interested in finding my way into places I wasn't supposed to be." The lock clicked into place and he smiled, standing up and pulling the door open with a flourish. "There. Piece of cake."

Sakaki barked a laugh and Michael's grin widened when he realized what Sakaki was thinking about. Patting him on the shoulder, Sakaki said with a grin, "It was a fun test and we're all impressed by how much you won."

"And I suppose you're going to ask me to assume the party goer submission position now?" Michael asked with a raised eyebrow, amazed by how many lines from Portal Sakaki had memorized.

"Nah," Sakaki shrugged. "I can just use lasers to inscribe a line down the center of the town and one half will be where you live and I'll live in the other half." He paused and Michael joined in on the last sentence, "We won't have to kill each other or even talk if we don't feel like it."

Blinking at Robin in shock, Michael realized that she had said the quote along with them.

"Would you two knock that off?' Doujima moaned, rolling her eyes as she followed Dante and Vergil through the door. "This isn't a game!"

"You sound like Karasuma," Sakaki whined, ignoring Karasuma's glare as she went through the doors beside him.

Michael was still watching Robin. "How did you know that quote?" he asked softly as he pulled the door shut behind them.

Blinking at him, Robin shrugged. "I don't know...was it from your game?"

"Yeah, but not the part that we've played yet."

Visibly uncomfortable, Robin looked away. "Maybe you've said it before."

Michael was relatively sure that they hadn't quoted that particular line yet, but he decided to let the subject drop anyway. Maybe Robin had already seen that moment before it happened, but Michael thought that a Portal quote was a strange thing to see about the future.

The church was eerily silent and lit only by the moonlight pouring through the windows, though the sanctuary was still cloaked in shadow. Despite the darkness, Vergil didn't stop until he was on the other side of the altar. Dante hovered at his side and the rest of them crowded around behind them, watching Vergil as he knelt down and threw back a rug behind the altar and studied the stone beneath it.

"What is he doing?" Michael murmured.

"That's the stone that has the message written into it," Robin replied. "I think that it's a key to finding Lucifer's body."

Crouching down beside Vergil, Dante asked with sour grin, "Did you try open sesame? Or how about alohomora?"

Repressing a laugh and wondering how Dante knew the spell from Harry Potter anyway, Michael began working his way past the others to get a better look at the stone.

Glancing up at Dante with a seething expression, Vergil pulled a knife from his boot. "Our blood is the key," he said softly as he cut a thin line over his palm and pressed his hand against the stone. Without moving his hand, he offered the knife to Dante. "Your turn."

Taking the knife and frowning at it a moment before closing his fist over the blade and jerking it swiftly out of his hand, Dante smiled at Vergil with an indecipherable combination of hatred, bitterness and other emotions that Michael couldn't quite interpret but found he could relate to on a deeper level. He recognized many of the feelings Zaizen had always inspired within him reflected in Dante's eyes when he looked at his brother. Dante pressed his hand down on the stone and Vergil flinched as their fingers touched.

As their blood soaked into the stone, the ground began to rumble beneath their feet and a dark dread filled Michael when the altar began to slide away from them, revealing a series of narrow steps beneath it leading down into a shadowy space. "Well, that was easy enough," Dante said, standing up and clenching his wounded hand. "Let's hope the rest is just as simple."

Before anyone could make a move toward the opening, Robin's gasp drew everyone's attention. She was staring toward the entrance of the church, a longing expression in her eyes, and she thoughtlessly pushed past everyone in her way to get a clear view. Watching her sadly, Michael recognized the look in her eyes and knew that she was thinking of Amon again.

"He's here," Robin breathed, the words airy and her gaze unfocused.

"There's no one there," Michael said softly, torn between wanting her to be happy and wanting to break her out of her trance.

"Damn," Dante hissed suddenly. "I feel it too." Shaking his head, he added, "I don't know where he is, but it feels like he's somewhere in this town."

"How convenient," Vergil snapped. "Does it not seem suspicious that you should be sensing him now when we are about to take the final step toward our goal?"

"I haven't sensed him this strongly since we were in Japan," Dante retorted.

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "Feelings can be manipulated."

Robin whimpered and Michael and Trish both reached out to steady her as she swayed on her feet. "He's far away again. I can't feel him here anymore. It's just like before." Robin shook her head. "It doesn't make sense."

"I'm not waiting for an explanation," Vergil said abruptly as he turned to the stairs, his lips pressed into a thin line. Dante began following him with a deep sigh.

"Ouch!" Doujima yelped suddenly, her foot poised awkwardly above the first step. Trying again to reach the step, her foot jerked away from the stone a few inches above the surface, a flash of light and a popping sound sending her foot backward. Stumbling back against Sakaki, she whined. "What? This is my favorite pair of shoes. It can't possibly be rejecting my fashion sense!"

Glancing back once at the empty church, Robin turned toward the opening and Michael followed her, his hand still caught in her sleeve. Crouching down next to the first step, Robin said with a inquisitive expression, "I can feel a concentration of power here. It seems to be sealing the entrance in some way. Maybe it only admits those who have offered their blood."

Testing her theory, she reached out a hand toward the step, but Doujima warned, "Careful! It packs a punch."

Robin's hand reached the stone without incident and she blinked in surprise.

"What did you do?" Doujima asked.

Robin shook her head. "Nothing."

Michael reached out a foot experimentally, but cursed when he felt a jolt like an electric shock surge through his body. "I guess it doesn't like me either," he grumbled, catching himself against a statue behind the altar.

"The seal is likely tuned to Sparda's blood," Vergil explained with a bored expression. "I imagine that it is only your connection to Dante that is allowing you to enter," he added, looking at Robin who was now standing fully on the first step.

"Does that mean the rest of us have to wait here?" Karasuma asked.

"Feel free to keep testing the seal, but I don't intend to wait around." Vergil turned his back on them and continued walking down the narrow stairs.

Dante glared at Vergil's back and shook his head. Then, glancing back up at them, he added, "We'll go down and take a look around. Wait here a minute and we'll come back up and tell you what's down there." He caught Trish's gaze and she nodded at him with a small smile. Though the interchange seemed to reassure them both, it did nothing for Michael, especially when Robin began walking down the stairs after Dante.

"I'm coming too," she said firmly, an expression of determination on her face that no one seemed inclined to argue with.

"Be careful," Karasuma warned helplessly. "And don't do anything without letting us know what's going on!"

Michael watched them disappear into the shadows with a frown. The sensation of being left behind was painfully familiar and he hated it more each time he experienced it. But he could do nothing to change the fact that he was once again forced to stay behind and wait.

* * *

"Well, that was a waste of time," Nagira commented, shoving a cigarette in his mouth. "I guess people in this town just don't like outsiders."

"I think we should check out that church next." Lady peered at Amon through her thick sunglasses; it certainly hadn't taken long for her to figure out that Amon was the one who always made the final decision.

Amon nodded with a scowl, although making note of the expression was hardly worth the effort since he had done nothing but scowl for weeks now. Still searching in his coat for his lighter, Nagira followed them down the street and said around his cigarette, "Are we resorting to praying for help in our search now? Saint Anthony, patron saint of lost things, hear our prayer?"

Lady's sunglasses had slid far enough down her nose for him to see her roll her eyes at him. "The old man who told me about this town was the grounds keeper at that church. He didn't say anything about the church in particular, but it's still worth a shot."

"It's the last place I would look for a demon," Nagira muttered as he finally retrieved his lighter and sucked in a calming mouthful of nicotine.

"Well, that just proves you don't know much about demons."

She had Amon's attention with that comment and Nagira grinned as Amon's scowl faded momentarily in deference to his curiosity. "What do you mean by that?"

Lady shrugged, her nose wrinkling as she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. "A church is a sanctuary, right? Everyone is welcome. So, what better place to hide?"

"Sounds like Solomon's M.O.," Nagira commented, watching a group of townspeople pass on the other side of the street while covertly throwing suspicious glances their way.

"Solomon?" Lady echoed. "You mean that organization that hunted witches? I heard they were finally shut down a few weeks ago."

Amon carefully avoided her gaze, his impenetrable walls falling back into place like clockwork.

"Not shut down. Just reorganized," Nagira replied, watching his half-brother curiously.

He still didn't know the whole story of what had happened to Solomon, but from what he did know, it sounded like half of the organization had mutinied against the other half. Amon had been reluctant to talk about it at all, but he seemed to be involved in the part that had rebelled and eventually won out, though there were still plenty of dissenters left from the old regime who didn't like the idea of having their witch hunting subject to any kind of restraints. All of it had happened so quickly that Nagira hadn't been able to keep track of it despite the fact that he had been with Amon while the coup was going on. They had both been a little preoccupied with finding his daughter at the time.

"Oh." Lady looked back at the church. "Well, it doesn't really matter anyway. We're looking for a demon, not a witch."

"A demon and witch, actually," Nagira muttered under his breath, but only Amon seemed to hear him, shifting a furious glare on him as soon as the words left his mouth. Nagira smiled and puffed smoke in Amon's face.

"Here we are," Lady announced, looking back at them as she pulled the door open. "After you," she added, gesturing them to enter ahead of her.

Amon exchanged another glance with Nagira before stepping into the dark vestibule. Lady caught Nagira's shoulder before he crossed the threshold, gesturing to his cigarette with a grimace. "Put that out."

Shrugging, Nagira plucked the cig from his mouth and let it fall to the concrete step, meeting her eyes as he put it out with his toe. "As you wish."

She shook her head and walked ahead of him into the church with a hint of frustration in her strides. Nagira followed her with a smile, enjoying the view at least. The church was more impressive on the inside than it had been from the street, elaborate stained glass windows casting colorful pools of light over rows of wooden pews and giving the space an ethereal quality that made him uncomfortably conscious of the loud echo of their footsteps.

Lady nearly ran into Amon when he stopped suddenly halfway up the aisle. "Hey," she grunted. "Why'd you stop?"

Nagira leaned to the side to get a better look at Amon's face and frowned when he saw the faraway expression on his features. Amon was focused intently on the altar ahead of them, that anguished look of longing in his eyes that Nagira was beginning to dread. "Do you sense her?" Nagira asked softly so he wouldn't startle him.

"Robin's here," Amon replied faintly. "Somewhere in this church." His eyes searched the sanctuary feverishly and he began walking again. "She's here right now."

Raising an eyebrow, Lady looked at Nagira as she said, "I don't see anyone here but us."

"That's where you're wrong," an arrogant voice said clearly from behind them, reverberating commandingly in the lofty space.

Nagira and Lady both spun around while Amon continued to stare at the empty altar. "Damn," Nagira cursed when he saw the rows of armed men in the choir loft. An imposing man stood at the center of the group, eyes flashing angrily from beneath the wide brim of his plum hat.

"Who the hell are you?" Lady asked as she reached for one of her guns.

"I used to be one of the greatest witch hunters in the world until Solomon lost their stomach for what must be done," the man said with a sneer.

"Sastre," Amon said angrily, finally pulling his attention back from wherever it had been.

"Yes," the man said. "That's my name. I'm flattered that you remember me, Amon."

"What do you want?" Amon demanded.

"I may no longer have the authority to destroy witches on my own, but there is one witch I cannot suffer to live. The Eve must die, and if Solomon refuses to see that truth, then I will have to kill her on my own."

Taking a step past Nagira and Lady and ignoring their questioning looks, Amon growled, "I won't let you touch Robin."

A cold breeze stirred around their feet, and Nagira felt an inkling of dread as it began whipping at their coattails. "Amon, what are you doing?" he hissed, instantly recognizing the icy wind as Amon's power. "Do you want to be a target too?"

"I won't let them hurt her," he whispered back, his face pinched into angry lines.

"She's not even here," Lady pointed out, but no one seemed to hear her as the men on the balcony raised their weapons and opened fire.

Nagira shielded his face with his arms when a brilliant flash of light erupted around them and an explosion of wind roared in his ears.

* * *

"Unless that staircase goes on forever, they're certainly taking their sweet time in reporting back to us," Doujima commented, pouting as she rested her chin in her hand, leaning over the altar and gazing down into the dark opening below.

Trish had to admit that she agreed with her, but she didn't think voicing her frustration would do anyone any good. Kneeling down next to the opening, she continued gingerly testing the seal over the stairs with small bursts of energy. She had half hoped that Mundus had done a good enough job creating her that the seal might actually have mistaken her for Eva and allowed her through. But Eva had been Sparda's lover, not a blood relative. It had been worth a shot considering the fact that the barrier had allowed Robin to pass through, but the attempt had been futile in the end.

Sighing, Trish sat back on her heels and looked up at the ceiling, hoping that whatever was happening at the other end of the stairs, Dante would keep his head and not let Vergil take the upper hand.

"They'll be back," Karasuma said unwaveringly though her expression was not quite as certain.

"And when they get back, we'll talk about what they're planning to do here."

Trish was on her feet and halfway around the altar the moment she heard the unfamiliar voice. Doujima shrieked, but was too slow to evade the priest's arm as he grabbed her roughly around the waist and pressed a knife against her throat.

Smiling, the priest waved Sakaki back a step. "There's no need to panic."

"What do you want?" Trish demanded, stepping in front of Sakaki and calling lightning to her fingertips simply for effect.

"I want to make sure that no one disturbs that tomb," the priest said bitterly. "Sparda set me as the guardian of this place many years ago against my will. He bound me here and tied my power into the seal around Lucifer's body. As long as I want to continue living, I have no choice but to make certain that seal stays intact. So, tell me. Why do you want to resurrect my old master?"

"Resurrect him?" Karasuma gasped. "Why would you think that we would want to do that?"

"Why else would you try to gain entrance to his tomb?" the priest demanded, pressing his knife closer to Doujima's throat as an aura of purple light began rising off his skin. "In all the years that I have been here, no one has managed to open the door that Sparda sealed—not even me."

Mentally searching for some kind of evidence that would prove their innocence, Trish was distracted enough that she didn't notice the tall, dark man appear behind the priest until she heard the priest's dying gasp. Doujima stumbled away from him as soon as his grip went slack and Trish quickly gestured her to join the others on the opposite side of the altar.

"Another traitor," Lucifer said softly, removing his hand from the gory hole in the middle of the priest's chest and allowing the body to fall unceremoniously to the floor. "But he, at least, will not interfere again." Sweeping his gaze over all of them with an arrogant tilt to his head, he said softly, "Not much time left now. I wonder if Vergil will manage to fulfill my orders this time before it is too late?"

The witch hunters gasped at the revelation, but Trish was beyond mere shock. "Vergil," she hissed, rage flaring inside of her with such intensity that she had trouble seeing straight. Trying to remind herself that Lucifer was likely intending to get a rise out of her, she took a deep breath, and continued faintly, "Even if he is following your orders, Dante will stop him before he manages to succeed."

"Do you really think so?" Lucifer took a step toward her, and Trish felt his words in her mind like the ticklish caress of a feather against her spine. He reached out a hand to brush against her face and she gripped his wrist and stopped his arm before he could touch her, lightning sparking along her skin.

"Look out," she heard someone cry behind her, but she was being pressed back against the altar by Lucifer before she could react.

Cupping her chin in one palm, he whispered over her lips, "I think your Dante will do whatever his dear brother wants him to do. Vergil rules both of you through your hatred. The question is, will he manage to break the seal in time?" A slow smile spread over Lucifer's lips. "I can't wait to find out."

* * *

The stairs were dark enough that Robin had to navigate the steps by touch more than by sight, one of her hands dragging over the roughly hewn stone walls as she went to keep herself grounded. She was grateful when Dante reached back and offered his uninjured hand to her, the touch both reassuring and steadying as the way ahead grew darker.

She lost count of the stairs before her eyes began adjusting to the darkness and she noticed a faint blue glow silhouetting Vergil against a round opening. Dante and Robin walked through the portal a moment later, and Robin gasped at the sheer size of the chamber beyond. A complicated pattern of silvery lines traced over every surface in the cavernous room, each mark emitting a soft light that seemed to swell and fade in a cyclical rhythm almost like breathing. Dante's grip on her hand was tight enough that it hurt, but she found herself gripping his hand back just as tightly.

"So, is this where our little vampire is sleeping?" Dante asked wryly as he studied the glowing patterns inscribed over the walls. "Should we wake him up with a stake through the heart?"

Vergil's eyes were focused on the floor as he replied quietly, "Good luck finding one big enough."

Following his gaze, Robin drew in a deep breath when she realized that the glossy floor was not made of rock at all. Though it was faint, she could make out contours beneath the floor, but her eyes could not make sense of the shape until she saw the arc of a closed eyelid and then the arch of a nose and the curve of lips. Backing away from the sight instinctively, Robin stumbled back against Dante.

"Tch," Dante scoffed. "Why do these megalomaniacs always think that they can make up for their lack of style with sheer size?" Cocking his head and pursing his lips, he surveyed the faint shadow of Lucifer's body beneath the smoky surface of the floor. "Lucy is definitely compensating for something."

"What made you think that he would constrain himself to human proportions?" Vergil asked blandly, wandering farther into the chamber.

"I don't know," Dante shrugged. "Hitting your head on the ceiling every time you walk into a room is a bitch. Being a giant may look impressive but it's damned inconvenient. Thought he was smart enough to figure that one out."

Robin shivered, unable to look away from Lucifer's face now that her eyes had made sense of the features. "I don't like this place," she whispered.

"You and me both," Dante echoed. "So, what next, Mr. Handbook of Arcane Rituals? You figured out how to open the door, so how do we fix this seal? It doesn't look too broken to me."

Vergil didn't respond standing motionless halfway across the chamber with his back turned to them.

"Hey. You ignoring me again?" Still, Vergil did not respond, and Dante released Robin's hand and approached Vergil with angry strides. "Yo. Earth to Vergil."

"I might actually be able to think if you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes," Vergil snarled over his shoulder, his profile illuminated in shades of blue.

Robin hugged her arms to herself and turned in a slow circle, hating the fact that she couldn't find a place to stand that wasn't somewhere above Lucifer's body. The undulating power in the room was disconcerting; it confused her senses and set her on edge, but it was also strangely tantalizing. Though she couldn't find its source, the power seemed to be calling to her, whispering thoughts of destruction and chaos in her mind. "Join with us," the energy said in images and sensations that caressed her thoughts. "We will rule the world together. There's nothing to fear. Open your mind and see all that I can offer you."

Distantly, she heard Dante and Vergil arguing, but her mind was so filled with the soft, coaxing voice that she could barely hear them. Warmth filled her, seeping up from her toes and along her spine and she heard a soft moan escape her lips as she gazed down at Lucifer's body and imagined that she could see his those enormous eyes beginning to open.

"Robin!" Dante said sharply, and she felt him shake her roughly.

Shaking her head, Robin stared down at the enormous face hovering somewhere beneath her feet, her heart clamoring in her chest. To her relief, the eyes beneath the floor were closed and the body was as still as a statue. Trembling badly, Robin clung to Dante, and noticed with a pang of fear that a faint light was rising off her of her skin. She held a hand in front of her face for inspection, feverishly willing the glow to fade.

"Are you okay?" Dante murmured.

"Did you see...?" Robin gasped, looking up at him and grasping at his coat. "Did you see his eyes open?"

"No," Dante said uncertainly, glancing down at Lucifer's body. "You moaned and almost fainted. I felt you slipping away...just like before."

"Like before?" she echoed.

"When I thought you were dead."

Fear constricted her chest and she felt an intense compulsion to cry, but she held back the tears through will alone. She had no idea what had almost happened, but whatever it was, it had been terrifying and left her feeling traumatized. Unable to control the severe shivers wracking her body, Robin huddled against Dante and allowed him to support her, his warmth melting some of the chill fear that continued to cling to her, though she found herself longing painfully for Amon and wishing that her sense of him in the church had been real.

"That's it," Dante said finally, his eyebrows drawn together into a fierce frown. "Let's go back upstairs."

"Wait." Vergil's voice was as cold as Robin felt. "We're not done here yet."

Dante turned and Robin opened her eyes without pulling away from him, catching a glimpse of Vergil framed by the arc of Dante's arm. His expression chillingly composed, Vergil regarded them haughtily, several sheets of paper clutched in his hand.

"Where did you get those?" Dante asked, warning shadowing his voice.

Vergil glanced down at the papers. "I brought them with me."

Robin felt anger flare within Dante and she wondered if it was caused by Vergil's answer or simply a byproduct of his worry for her. "Why did you want Robin here in the first place?" Dante demanded suddenly. "Did you know something like this would happen?"

Pulling an envelope out of the stack of papers, Vergil offered it to Dante. When Dante made no move toward him, he tossed it through the air like a frisbee. It fluttered down to the ground a few feet away. "Read it," Vergil said simply, his expression giving nothing away.

Exchanging a glance with Robin, Dante reluctantly released her and Robin shivered the moment he stepped away, watching with a hint of dread as he picked up the envelope. "What is this? Orders from Lucy?" Dante growled, crumpling the envelope in a fist. "Have you been playing us from the beginning?"

Vergil took a slow step toward him, his expression utterly calm. "The note is written in my handwriting."

Shaking his head, Dante murmured, "I don't get it."

Robin took a weak step toward him. "What does it say?"

As Dante looked back at her, Robin found herself struggling to voice a warning, but no sound came out of her throat before Vergil had grabbed him from behind and pressed a slender needle into his arm. An explosion of anger, outrage and pain exploded through their connection as Dante grimaced and tried to fight off Vergil, but he couldn't seem to evade his brother's grasp before he began to fade, shuddering as his knees went weak beneath him. "Son of a bitch," Dante managed to breath, glaring up at Vergil. "If you hurt her..."

Supporting his weight as Dante's eyes fluttered shut at last, Vergil slowly lowered him down to the ground. "Sweet dreams," he murmured and paused for a moment, Dante's body clutched against him and his face tucked into the curve of Dante's neck. Robin gaped at him, frozen with indecision and wondering if she should run or stay. Vergil's intentions were completely unfathomable to her. She might have tried to use her craft on him if she hadn't been feeling uncertain of her control at the moment and if he hadn't been cradling Dante's defenseless body so close.

At last, Vergil pulled away from Dante and looked up at Robin with caution written into every feature. "I need...your help." he said, his voice thick with reluctance.

* * *

Gunshots echoed in his ears, but Amon focused on repelling the bullets back toward their origin with razor-sharp gusts of wind. He had been searching too long to let anyone harm Robin when he was so close to getting her back. His craft stopped more bullets in their progress and he heard the cries of pain as the projectiles ripped back through the air toward the men on the balcony.

He was mentally preparing himself for Sastre's counterattack when something lurched around him. A blinding flash of light like an explosion enveloped him and Amon stumbled backward, shielding his eyes from the glare. When he opened his eyes again, he was still in the church, but it was no longer the middle of the day. The windows were dark and the choir loft was draped in shadows.

Turning around to verify that Nagira and Lady were still behind him, Amon's jaw dropped open when he saw the unexpected gathering of people at the front of the church. "Amon?" several familiar voices cried, and he found himself scanning the group for Robin's ginger-colored head. Unable to find her, he focused instead on the imposing figure standing in front of the altar with a hand tangled in Trish's hair.

"What the hell is going on here?" Lady demanded with a gun trained on both the choir loft and the group at the other end of the church. Her eyes widened when she saw the two demons in front of the altar. "Trish?!"

"Lady?" Trish managed to gasp despite the way Lucifer clenched her hair and jerked her head sharply.

"How interesting," Lucifer purred, his eyes focusing sharply on Amon. "You actually managed to break into my illusion. Perhaps you are the missing piece to the puzzle."

"What are you talking about?" Amon asked with hint of panic in his voice, the memory of his nearly unsuccessful escape from hell burning in his mind.

"Unfortunately, you are out of time," Lucifer said with an eager smile, his gray eyes glinting with excitement. "I was beginning to grow weary of this game, but I have hope that the next iteration will be the final one. I can hardly wait to see what happens." Closing his eyes, he breathed, "Time's up."

Before anyone could ask another question, Amon's vision clouded and his senses screamed with a rush of power. Groaning in pain, he watched the world spin around him and felt the floor rise to meet him with a hollow thud. His eyes closed of their own volition and he knew no more.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm sure you're all full of questions now, and the beginning of the next chapter will probably just multiply them, but I promise that we are getting really close to the end now. I can't say for certain how many chapters will be left, but I am relieved that we're past this point now and moving into the home stretch.**

**Tonsil Hockey: Find "A kiss is not a contract" by Flight of the Conchords on Youtube for the reference. I was trying to come up with a Dante-esque way to put the kiss and my mind instantly went to this song and couldn't let it go.**

** Reorganized: This is a stupid reference, but I think about it every time I read this line. Anyone who's a fan of Street Fighter should check out Street Fighter: The Later Years on collegehumor . com. For some reason, I hear Zangief saying ****that word in my head every time I read it. His accent is so bad!**

** My handwriting: I'm recording this reference mostly for myself because I doubt anyone else here would even recognize it. I couldn't help thinking of a scene from one of the time traveling episodes of Babylon 5 when I wrote this. I was showing a friend the series recently and realized how ridiculous it is that the first question Sheridan asks when Sinclair gives him the letter he received that told him what to do next is "Whose handwriting is this?" Why would he even ask that question? Of course, so that Sinclair could reply, "Mine," and it would be all creepy and cool. Otherwise, he would just have to explain the fact that he got a letter from himself in the future/past and it wouldn't have been nearly as dramatic. So stupid…**


	16. Full Circle

**Author's Note:  
Finally, all is revealed—or at least a lot of it. Don't get too frustrated by the way the chapter starts. I do have some actual answers in here for you if you can believe it! If you get thoroughly lost, it might be helpful to reference chapter twelve...**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Full Circle**

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Robin came back to herself, irritatingly bright sunlight shining sharply through the window on her face. She felt comfortable despite the harsh light, cradled within strong arms with her cheek nestled against a subtle warmth. She made a soft sound of contentment, instinctively trying to burrow closer to the source of warmth and hide her face from the sunlight against the hollow of a collarbone. Sounds filtered distantly through her ears without the need for identification, the rumble of voices blending into the tapestry of her dreams, and she wanted nothing more than to stay within the comforting cocoon as long as possible.

Chill air sent goose bumps over her skin as she sensed movement near her, but it was only when the arms began to retreat that she woke up enough to wonder where they were going. Protesting wordlessly, she caught at one of the limbs, blinking repeatedly into the brilliant sunlight as her eyes adjusted. Sharp, pale blue eyes met her gaze, narrowed with annoyance. Surprised to find herself confronted with a face other than Amon's, she did not realize she was staring at Vergil and not Dante until she noticed the cold glint in his eyes and the way his pale hair swept back from his chiseled features.

Robin abruptly released the arms that had been holding her with such unexpected gentleness and watched sadly as Vergil took a step away, missing Amon desperately and feeling vaguely guilty for not realizing immediately that Vergil was not him. A memory skated through her mind and she suddenly felt as if she had something she needed to tell Vergil, but she didn't have the chance to say anything before he turned his back on her and shoved his way out of the vehicle.

"Are you okay, Robin?" Michael asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Still blinking drowsily at the open door, Robin tried to figure out where she was and how she had gotten there. "Where are we?" she asked softly.

"At the bed and breakfast." Michael glanced through the windshield and back at her. "But I guess that it looks exactly like the house Dante and Vergil grew up in—the one they said had burned to the ground."

Shivering with an uneasy feeling as if someone was walking over her grave, Robin looked out the window at the mansion and realized that she had seen it before. But that couldn't be right. She had never been there before...had she? Shaking her head, Robin began making her way to the door, grateful for Michael's support when he grasped her arm and guided her down to the ground.

"Careful," he said. "You've been out the whole trip. Are you sure you're okay?"

Robin wasn't at all sure that she was okay, so she didn't answer and focused instead on the monstrous house ahead of her and the solid ground beneath her feet. _Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something important?_ She knew that she was probably overreacting and that her sensation of deja vu was nothing more than disorientation, but she couldn't help comparing the feeling to the way she had felt when she had amnesia after their fight with Beatrice.

Vergil and Dante were standing at the front door arguing by the time she and Michael were within earshot. "Why would someone create an illusion if they didn't intend to use it as a trap?" Dante snapped.

"I had no more idea what to expect here than you did," Vergil replied with unflappable calm. "And this is far beyond what I could have expected. But even if it _is_ a trap, that would only prove that this is the right place to be, wouldn't it—unless you have a more likely destination in mind?"

Dante was still considering his response when the front door swung open and an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch. "Oh my," she gasped, startled by the angry twins on her front step. "Pardon me. I was just coming out to pick up the mail. Are you guests?"

"We have reservations," Karasuma said before Dante or Vergil could reply.

Her unease increasing, Robin observed her companions' reactions and wondered if she was the only one who was feeling as if she had experienced all of this before. Maybe she was simply confused by her sudden awakening, but she couldn't shake the feeling regardless. Following the others into the house, Robin looked around the foyer with a hint of fear, recognizing details she knew she shouldn't find familiar.

"This place is pretty cool, isn't it?" Sakaki said with a grin, elbowing Michael. "Like a haunted mansion or something."

"Yeah," Michael replied halfheartedly.

Robin felt him watching her as she paused next to a small table and picked up one of the petals scattered around the bottom of a vase. The flowers were just beginning to blossom and the shriveled petals on the table seemed out of place beneath a vase full of fresh flowers. Maybe whoever had filled the vase had forgotten to clean up the table when they replaced the flowers. On a whim, Robin brushed a fingertip over one of the blossoms, gasping when the flower disintegrated beneath her finger.

"Come on you guys," Doujima called from the staircase. "She's going to take us up to our rooms."

Deeply disturbed by the fragile flower for no reason she could explain, Robin followed the others up the stairs and gazed at the pictures hung at intervals along the stairs. A portrait of two young boys with pale hair caught her eye and her eyes widened when she noticed the red pendants hung around their necks—they were all too similar to the pendant she had seen hanging around Dante's neck before. She wasn't sure that she could relate to Sakaki's excitement at the possibility of the house being haunted, but she had to admit that his observation that there was something strange about the house had merit.

Lost in thought, Robin waited in the hallway while Karasuma and the old woman conversed and exchanged a handful of keys. She found herself staring at Vergil, unable to shake the feeling that whatever had caused her unexplainable sense of unease had something to do with him. He stood stoically at one end of the hall, pretending not to be paying attention to the rest of them, though his eyes were focused covertly on Dante's back, his expression difficult to decipher.

Their interactions were complicated at best, but something about the way Vergil's eyes softened when he looked at Dante stirred the doubts in her mind. She didn't understand why Vergil pretended to ignore Dante when he was acutely sensitive to his every movement, but she felt as if the answer was floating somewhere in her mind just out of reach. She had learned the answer once before, hadn't she? She felt as if she had, but she couldn't seem to remember when or how.

"Now we just need to decide how to divide up these rooms," Karasuma announced as the old woman led Vergil up another flight of stairs. "She said that there are three doubles and a single."

"Robin and I can take one of the doubles," Doujima said quickly, snatching at a key with one hand while she wrapped her other arm around Robin's. "Right, Robin? It'll be like a slumber party."

Glancing at Doujima with a wan smile, she tried to appear excited at the prospect, but she was too distracted to even react. Normally she would have been elated by the possibility of a slumber party because it represented something that normal girls did—something that she had never experienced. But all she could think about as Doujima tugged her down the hallway toward their room was the fact that something was terribly wrong and she seemed to be the only one who was aware of it.

"Can you believe that?" Doujima demanded as she shut the door behind them with a scowl.

"Hm?"

"What Sakaki said back there. He is so perverted. He better not really be looking up porn, or I'll...well, I'll make him regret it. And Michael's no better. He certainly didn't deny the implications, anyway. They're both despicable."

Robin nodded, though she wasn't really listening to anything Doujima was saying, and sat down slowly on her bed. Looking around the room to distract herself from the sense of dread building at the pit of her stomach, Robin's fingers clenched in the bedspread when she noticed the ribbon on the bedside table. Her eyes widening, she reached for the crimson ribbon and held it up between her hands. What was a ribbon exactly like the ribbons she always used to tie up her hair doing next to her bed?

"Are you listening, Robin?" Doujima looked down at her with arms crossed over her stomach and her lips pursed.

"I'm sorry," Robin murmured, clutching the ribbon as she looked up at Doujima. "What did you say?"

"I can't believe Karasuma made Dante dye his hair," she said mournfully. "Brown is not his color—though I suppose it's pretty hard to damage his looks anyway."

"He wasn't very happy about it," Robin said absently, winding the ribbon around one of her fingers.

"Yeah. And it's especially weird with his twin brother standing right beside him like a mirror image of what he used to look like. The two of them together is almost too much sexiness to bear in an enclosed space for so many hours straight, you know?" Doujima dropped down onto her bed with a huff and crossed her legs. Leaning forward, she continued, "So, what's with him and Dante, anyway? The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife."

"They hate each other," Robin said uncomfortably, looking away.

"Why? What happened?"

Robin shrugged. "I don't know exactly."

"Hmm...there has to be a juicy story in there somewhere, and I'll bet anything it's full of angst and romance." Sighing, Doujima leaned back on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows. "They seem to be pretty competitive. Maybe they both fell for the same girl. Can't you just see it? They probably even fought each other to win her love, their bodies all hot and sweaty as each of them put everything he had into trying to take the upper hand...and then in the end it didn't matter who won because the girl was sickly and ended up dying. And when she was gone, they were both left alone with nothing but their hatred for each other and the pain of a lost love."

"Doujima?" Robin asked faintly, raising an eyebrow as Doujima closed her eyes with another sigh. "I really don't think that's what happened."

"Oh, but wouldn't it be romantic?"

"It sounds depressing."

"Or maybe...one of them was loved more by their parents and the other was always jealous, yearning for their parents' affection and always denied. Or maybe they were both involved in something secret and one of them betrayed the other by revealing the secret and escaping blame."

Shaking her head at Doujima's dramatic scenarios that all sounded like something out of a shojo manga, Robin suggested, "I think that the real reason they don't get along is simple. It has to do with the fact that Dante is more in tune with his human side while Vergil relates more to his demon half. They just can't understand each other."

"Or maybe," Doujima said suddenly, sitting up and looking at Robin with bright, eager eyes, "one of them has forbidden feelings that he can't accept. Wouldn't that be tragic? They are mirror images of each other after all, and who isn't attracted to their own reflection? And maybe the other one found out and that's why they hate each other, because it is easier to accept hatred than prohibited love."

Robin shivered and gaped at Doujima, though she didn't know why the bizarre theory affected her so deeply. Something about it rang true despite the fact that it seemed even more ridiculous than Doujima's other ideas, and Robin found herself chasing again after the thought that had been tickling at the back of her mind since she woke up.

Laughing, Doujima broke the tension by saying, "But that sounds like a bad doujinshi plotline!" She shook her head. "Wow, I think I really need to get out more. I've been spending too much time at the STN-J around perverts like Sakaki and Michael. Next thing you know, I'll be looking up yaoi fan fiction or something..."

Robin gasped as memories suddenly fell into place in her mind. She remembered a cavernous chamber with a transparent floor that enclosed a sleeping form resembling Lucifer. Shivering, the memory swept her up in its embrace and she was standing in that room again next to Vergil, with Dante's unconscious body between them.

"_Why would I help you?" she demanded, taking a step away from him. "Dante—"_

"_Will be fine," he said firmly, his hand unconsciously clenching on Dante's shoulder. "I poisoned him, but it will not do more than keep him unconscious for a short time." He pulled a watch out of his pocket and frowned. "But we only have fifteen minutes left anyway."_

"_Fifteen minutes...what do you mean?"_

Robin stood up and headed for the door with an undeniable sense of urgency.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Doujima cried. "I was joking around Robin. I didn't mean to offend you!"

"You didn't." Robin hesitated next to the door. "I just remembered something I need to do."

Other fragments of memory flooded her thoughts, and she could only catch them a little at a time as they flew past.

"_Dante was right to question me," Vergil said softly, looking down at his brother with an anguished gaze that seemed to lay all of his tangled emotions bare. "I am a traitor. But in the end, I've chosen not to betray you...or him." He lifted the papers Dante had been questioning him about and shook them. "I wrote this letter to myself, but I have no memory of writing it."_

_Blinking at the letter as if the papers had just transformed into a viper, Robin gasped, "How can that be?"_

"Can I come along?"

"No," Robin said sharply, but forced a smile when Doujima's expression shadowed with hurt. "I just need some time to think. I'll be back later."

_Vergil glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes as he handed her the letter he had ordered her to memorize. "And don't tell anyone else what you know."_

"_Why?" she demanded, doubts swiftly gathering within her again. _

"_Because the more people that are involved in a conspiracy, the more likely it is to be discovered."_

"Just don't go too far or leave the house," Doujima lectured as Robin slipped out the door. "You know that Solomon's after you."

Robin nodded. "I'll be careful," she said before the door clicked behind her.

* * *

Lady's head was aching when she finally opened her eyes. Arched timbers rose high above her head and met in an interlocking pattern of wood and metal bracings, but the ceiling was not immediately familiar to her. She was lying on an unyielding surface and the air was cool and still, scented with the faint aroma of incense--not a particularly foreboding environment, but she couldn't remember falling asleep in such a place. Though she tried in vain to piece together her most recent memories, what little she did recall didn't seem to make any sense.

Gathering herself for the effort of sitting up , Lady jumped in surprise when a kind face leaned over her with a gentle smile. "Good morning," the man said. "Would you mind telling me what you're doing in my church?"

Lady sat up quickly enough that her head spun from the sudden change in altitude, her hands recognizing the smooth wood beneath her as a pew and the vaulted space around her as a church. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she regarded the priest. Something about him wasn't quite right; she couldn't put her finger on what it was, but she didn't like the sensation regardless.

Surveying her surroundings more closely, she recalled suddenly that they had been ambushed and her eyes darted toward the choir loft with a hint of fear. But the balcony was empty and she could see no sign of the bullets that should have marred the wooden pews around her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Amon and Nagira sitting up on the other side of the church and some of the tension inside of her eased; at least they were still with her despite whatever else had happened.

"Miss?" the priest asked in that ever-so-kind tone. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she murmured, rising to her feet with an unsteady lurch. "Did you see anything strange in here a few minutes ago?"

The priest blinked at her in surprise, but she wasn't so out of it that she failed to notice the dark glint in his eyes. "I just arrived. I had to travel to a nearby town for morning services and when I got back I found the three of you sleeping here in my church. Has something happened?"

"We were ambushed!" Nagira exclaimed with a scowl that nearly matched his brother's in intensity. Lady bit her tongue to keep from berating him for announcing the strange occurrence when they were still feeling out the situation. But despite her annoyance, she couldn't help but feel relieved that she hadn't imagined the entire thing--or, at least, that she wasn't the only one who had imagined it.

"You must have had a dream," Amon said sharply, his grey eyes cold and humorless as he glared at his befuddled brother. "We came here to pray. Remember?"

"Yeah," Lady agreed blandly. "And we were so caught up in prayer that we must have fallen fast asleep." It was a flimsy excuse, but she was too perplexed to work out a better one. Grabbing a grimy sleeve of Nagira's ridiculous white coat, Lady started tugging him with her toward the door. "Sorry to bother you, Father."

Finally catching on, Nagira grunted in agreement, "Yeah. Couldn't have stayed awake if we'd been in the garden of Gethsemane."

Lady glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, but refused to comment on his strange statement.

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" the priest asked as they fled, his voice darkening.

"No, thanks. We really should be going now," Lady said with a strained smile and a flick of a wave over her shoulder as she shoved Nagira ahead of her out the door.

"What the hell just happened?" Nagira demanded when they were outside.

"I don't know," Amon replied, taking a deep breath as he looked around warily. "But I feel as if we're getting closer to our destination. I can sense Robin more strongly than I have in days."

"Like you did before?" Nagira raised an eyebrow. "Like in the bar and in the church just before those ex-Solomon goons showed up?"

Amon shook his head. "Not exactly. It's weaker than it was then, but steadier somehow."

"What happened to the guys who attacked us, anyway?" Lady asked, wondering why no one else had asked that question already. "The last thing I remember is a bright light."

"I don't know. But something has shifted," Amon replied. "I think I did something when I used my craft. I'm not sure what happened, but we are not in exactly the same place we were before."

"Not in the same place as before?" Nagira glanced at Lady and back at Amon. "That's less than reassuring. What exactly does that mean?"

"I told you," Amon snapped. "I don't know. I can't explain it."

Lady sighed, wishing that her companions would have mentioned before that they were connected with Solomon. From what she had gathered before she blacked out, Amon must have either worked for the organization or been hunted by them; her guess was the latter considering his abilities, but she still didn't understand what that fruity Sastre character had meant about "the Eve." Either way, she hadn't planned on getting caught up with the organization.

"I guess we should take a look around," she said finally when her companions seemed content to simply continue glaring at each other silently, "and find out exactly how this place could be different from where we were before."

"Not a bad idea," Nagira said sourly. "How about we start out with the inside of the bar and some vodka? My nerves are completely shot."

* * *

Pressing his forehead against the glass of the window when he knew that Lucifer was gone, Vergil closed his eyes. Only three days. He was running out of choices—that was, if he had ever really had any choices in the first place. Frustration gnawed at him and he wished that he wouldn't have waited so long to make up his mind—but wishing would not get him anywhere. He had three days to salvage the situation as best he could and he would have to make the most of them.

The sound of the door opening startled him; he was not in the mood to deal with any more company at the moment, though he supposed he might have welcomed an argument with Dante, if only to vent some of his frustration. Gathering his scattered poise, Vergil took a step away from the window and turned with a regal air, though he faltered when he saw the slight girl standing just inside the room with her hand on the doorknob.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she said in an unassuming voice, but something about the earnest intensity in her eyes made him anxious.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Vergil asked brusquely, "What do you want?" Though he had only allowed her to sleep in his arms during the car ride in order to irritate his brother, he knew that it was very possible that his action had given her the wrong idea about his intentions. He wanted to make absolutely certain that she did not misunderstand him.

Her hands clenched tightly in front of her, she took a step into the room but avoided meeting his eyes. "I need to talk to you."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Vergil leaned back against the bedpost. "Make it quick."

Her green eyes darted toward him sharply. "I know the truth about you. I know that you died a long time ago, and that it is only because of Lucifer that you are alive now."

Taken by surprise, Vergil's jaw dropped open and he gaped at her, momentarily speechless. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said when he managed to find his voice, though even he could tell that his response was less than convincing.

Again she scanned the room, though he had no idea what she was looking for. Finally, satisfied, she returned her gaze to him and said softly, "I don't think he can hear us."

Fear churned inside of him and he asked cautiously, "You don't think who can hear us?"

"Lucifer," she said as she took another tentative step toward him.

"Now why would you bring him up?" he asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Because we can't let him find out what we're planning."

"What we're planning," Vergil echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Exactly when did we plan anything?"

She frowned. "You really don't remember, do you? You've forgotten everything, just like everyone else." Her eyes darted around the room and her brows furrowed in concentration as she bit her lower lip anxiously. "You said this would happen, but it's still hard to believe. I almost forgot everything myself, but you were right about my craft. It took me a little while to recall everything, but because of my powers, I was able to hold onto my memories despite Lucifer's spell."

"What are you talking about?" Vergil's voice was frigid and his body felt ten degrees colder than his words, that foreign presence crawling around inside his mind again. The shadowy other consciousness in his head had been silent for long enough that he had begun to hope that it had simply been a temporary byproduct of his resurrection and not a permanent disability. But the personality Mundus had crafted so long ago was still inside of him, and somehow this soft spoken girl was managing to make it feel threatened—so threatened that he was having a hard time suppressing the instinct to destroy her before she could expose him.

"Lucifer is playing with us." She regarded him uncertainly, as if she sensed the dangerous presence inside of him. "He has trapped us in this town and is forcing us to live the same three days again and again until we do things the way he wants."

Though Vergil was reluctant to believe her—and Nero Angelo was even less willing to believe—he was disturbed by the length of time she had mentioned and its alignment with Lucifer's deadline. Too consumed by his attempt to keep the dark presence within him at bay, he remained silent and watched her carefully.

She wrung her hands as she continued. "I don't understand why, but Lucifer doesn't seem to think we're a threat to him. He isn't in a hurry to recover his body and his powers because he doesn't think that we could possibly oppose him in the end anyway. As soon as we entered this town we fell under his spell, and we have been living in a bubble playing out his experiment ever since. He gives us three days to find his body and break the seal, and as soon as the third day is up, he rewinds time and erases our memories, returning us to the first day and starting the cycle all over again. So far we have failed to fulfill his wishes, but the odds are good that we will not be able to keep avoiding the inevitable forever."

Shaking his head and clenching his hands at his sides, Vergil hissed, "Even if what you say is true, why tell me? No one else trusts me. Perhaps you are under the illusion that there is something between us because of the way I indulged you on our journey here, but—"

"I am telling you because you are the one who told me," she interrupted sharply. "You figured out what was going on and you said you needed my help to break the cycle." Taking another step toward him, she continued, "I'm stronger than Lucifer suspects—stronger than I realized. You made me understand that I was already managing to see through Lucifer's illusions without realizing what I was doing. I kept having deja vu and sensing things from the outside world, but I didn't understand what they meant. Lucifer's spell doesn't work on me completely, and I can fight it if I try."

Vergil forced himself to think, though holding onto any thought was difficult with the angry presence struggling for a foothold in his mind. Despite his suspicions, he couldn't find a way to explain away her story; pieces of it made an uncanny sort of sense, and unless this was all a trick of Lucifer's to confuse him, he couldn't think of a reason why she would come up with such an elaborate lie.

"So, we're allies?" he said finally, though his voice was still heavy with incredulity. "Is that what you're saying?" If she truly was as powerful as she claimed, then he supposed it wasn't impossible that he would choose to ally himself with her, but he would have to be desperate to resort to such a thing.

Robin smiled faintly—sadly, it seemed. "Yes. I agreed to help you. And you made me promise not to tell anyone else."

Disbelieving that she could be so naïve, he replied with a faint smile, "And you simply did as I commanded?"

Her green eyes flashed with an emotion he could not quite interpret. "For now, yes. But you warned me that you were a traitor. Lucifer revived you and that makes you ultimately subject to his will."

Hearing what he had supposedly said and done was starting to wear on his nerves, especially because he could almost believe that he would say and do most of those things in the proper circumstances. He was beginning to believe her, but he wasn't ready to give up his doubts just yet. "This is insane," he said with a sigh, turning away sharply. "You have already admitted that Lucifer is playing with us. Why should I believe that this is anything but another one of his tricks?"

Robin frowned. "You said that you wouldn't believe me. So, you told me a secret that only you know. You said that it would be the only way to convince you."

A chill raced down his spine and he looked at her with dread.

"I know how you feel about Dante," she said faintly and the pity in her gaze made him look away again, grinding his teeth and clenching at the smooth wood of the bedpost with a surge of anger he could not explain. "I know that you love him—that you've always loved him—but that your love is not the kind of love a person should have for his sibling."

"I'm surprised the disgust wasn't enough to inspire you to rethink our little alliance," he snapped, doubting her story again and wondering if this was simply another attempt of Lucifer's to push him into facing his desires.

"It's not my place to judge your feelings," she said with sincerity that only fed his illogical anger. "Whether or not they are sinful is not my decision. But the fact that you have refused to act on them for his sake counts for something. You said that you were telling me this secret because you had made a mistake. You said that you had allowed Dante to find out the truth and that it must never happen again. I think you told me because you wanted me to warn you." That definitely did not sound like something Lucifer would say and his counterarguments began to scatter.

"I have made him hate me," Vergil replied finally, feeling suddenly as if he were confessing to her. She was being entirely too forgiving of his sins, and he felt obligated to convince her that he was not worthy of forgiveness. "I've done things to make certain he would continue to hate me—things you would consider distasteful."

Her angelic expression sickened him. "I know."

"I'm not sorry for what I've done," he added, his growing anger pouring out through his words. "I don't want forgiveness." Nero Angelo was rebelling against her pity, and he remembered suddenly what he had done the last time he had felt that presence so clearly in his mind; the other personality seemed to think that he should be proud of what had happened that time, proud of what he had done to Dante's lover. He found himself wondering just how much influence that dark presence truly had over him, and whether it had allowed him to broach boundaries that he would normally refuse to cross.

But that was an excuse, and Vergil was not accustomed to making excuses for his actions. Shaking his head briefly, he met her eyes. She tilted her head at him, but did not reply, as if she sensed the struggle going on inside of him.

"I want to stop Lucifer for selfish reasons," he said when she remained silent. "I'm not doing it for Dante... or any of you." Saying the vengeful words made him feel somewhat better, but he could tell by the sadness in her eyes that his words were not having the intended effect.

"Why do you want to be hated?" she whispered, and he felt something within him crumble.

Avoiding her piercing gaze, he clenched his jaw and replied, "It's not about want. I have rejected my humanity and chosen to live by my own rules. I don't need forgiveness or love or hate—or any human emotion. I act as I see necessary." Glancing at her coldly, he added, "Don't fool yourself into believing there is any honor in my actions. If I asked for your help, I did it only because I felt it was necessary to achieve my goals."

Approaching him cautiously as if she knew how dangerous he was, she placed a slender hand against his arm; the touch was a fiery warmth that reminded him painfully of Dante, but he was already too numb for it to penetrate his icy detachment. "It isn't weak to depend on someone else, Vergil," she said gently. "It takes enormous strength and trust to allow someone else to share your burdens. No matter what you say, I won't believe that you don't care."

"Then you're a fool," he said cruelly, though her persistence was starting to wear him down.

She smiled faintly and her eyes sparkled with wry amusement, which only enraged him further.

"You are repeating Dante's mistakes," he said softly, his eyes narrowing. "Dante has always believed I care more than I do, and in the end he is always the one left hurting. His emotions are his weakness, and it doesn't matter how many times I teach him the truth. He always hangs himself by holding on to the foolish hope that I care. I never have, and I never will."

"You told me that you love him," she protested.

"I desire him," Vergil retorted, the cold void within him growing. Dimly, he recognized what he was allowing to happen; Nero Angelo was taking control of him one piece at a time. He didn't know if he would ever be able to recover himself if he allowed the artificial personality to gain control, but the temptation of having an emotionless shell to protect him from his weaknesses was more than he could deny. "Desire has nothing to do with love."

"Stop," she whispered, her hand tightening on his arm. A wave of heat rushed through him and the dark presence shadowing his mind retreated abruptly. "Stop lying."

"I'm not lying." But his voice was hollow, and even he could hear the contradiction in his words. Despite everything he had said, despite everything he had done, the truth was that he did care for his brother and it was that incredibly human emotion that he hated, not Dante. He hated that his feelings for Dante made him weak in a way that nothing else could. But he couldn't turn those feelings off no matter what he did.

Pulling away from her touch, he said shortly, "If what you've told me is true, then we have precious little time or resources to do what we must. We don't have time for distractions." Drawing a deep breath, he tried not to think about how close he had come to losing himself entirely, or how she had saved him from falling into that trap. "Now, tell me what else you know before it's too late."

* * *

Though he was sympathetic to the plight of witches everywhere and went out of his way to help them when he could, Nagira's tolerance for the paranormal was no greater than anyone else's—and he had nearly reached his quota with all the time he had spent with his crazy half brother recently. Between Solomon and the powers Amon occasionally exhibited, Nagira had seen enough objects flying through the air seemingly of their own will and weather shifting without the consent of nature to last him a lifetime. But he drew the line when the supernatural started affecting him personally.

He had no explanation for what had happened to them back in the church, and he was working hard to keep himself from trying to explain it because he knew that the very possible truth was that he was utterly unequipped to understand it at all. Amon said they were in a different place. Maybe they were. And if that was the absolutely illogical explanation, then he needed some alcohol in his stomach before he was could attempt to make any sense of it.

But fate seemed to be determined to toy with him since they had taken no more than one step into the bar before Amon ushered them back out to the street with a glowering thundercloud of an expression. Only the fact that the scowl was a little extreme even for him kept the angry complaint in Nagira's mouth.

"There are at least a dozen witch hunters in there," Amon stated as if relating a death to a loved one—although to Nagira it did feel like an occasion worthy of a dirge. He could almost taste the alcohol he was not going to get. "I did not see Sastre," Amon continued, "but I recognized many of the men who were at the church."

"Great," Lady sighed, crossing her arms under her breasts and pursing her lips into an adorable little pout. "So, what now?"

"Let's go back to the motel," Nagira said, offering his back-up plan. "Maybe they restocked the mini bar, at least."

The motel was not far away, but Amon spent most of the journey peering furiously into every shadow as if waiting for hunters to leap out into the pools of light cast by the intermittent streetlights. Nagira found his paranoia highly amusing until they got closer to their motel room and he noticed the light glowing through the windows.

Stopping in the middle of the parking lot, and fixing Nagira with a glare, Amon hissed, "We didn't leave the light on."

Nagira shrugged, scrambling for a logical explanation. "Are you sure? Maybe the maid left it on when she tidied up the room."

Clearly unconvinced of that answer, Amon paused next to the door to listen for voices within before sliding his key into the lock. Frowning as he turned the key, he pulled out his gun and kicked the door inward with enough force to make it slam back against the inner wall.

Cringing when he heard a woman shriek, Nagira watched Amon's pale face turn a dull shade of crimson as he gaped at the half-naked couple embracing on the bed. "Uh..." he grunted awkwardly.

Shaking his head, Nagira reached for the door and began to pull it shut with an apologetic smile. "Terribly sorry. Wrong room," Nagira said with a wave. "We had a tip that there was a criminal in here. Good night, folks."

Amon had not moved from his position in front of the door, his gun still clutched in his hands. "What are they doing in our room?" he demanded.

"Well, I think I have a pretty good idea what they're doing—though it's been long enough that I'll admit I'm a little fuzzy all the details," Nagira replied with a hollow smile.

Amon's glare said that he had no interest in Nagira's jokes.

Looking away from the frigid gaze, Nagira noticed that their female companion was missing. "Where's Lady?"

They found her crouching outside her own motel room and peeking in through a window. Standing up with a frown, she said, "My room's occupied too."

"Are you sure?" Nagira chuckled. "Maybe you should act like you're breaking down the door to make absolutely certain."

Lady merely rolled her eyes and started walking toward the office. Amon followed after her woodenly, his cheeks still a pale hue of pink, a fact which improved Nagira's spirits. His slight improvement in mood plummeted quickly when they explained what had happened to the owner of the motel, a grizzled old man who claimed to have never seen them before in his life though Nagira knew for a fact that he had given the man his last traveler's cheque. The man also told them that he currently had no vacancies and that he was sure sorry, but they would have to find another place to stay.

"I don't like this a lot," Lady grumbled when they were back outside. "No hotel room and no luggage. Just where the hell are we?"

"Correction. No hotel room, no luggage and no alcohol. Maybe we're in hell," Nagira suggested, lighting up a smoke with a sour grin.

"Not hell," Amon said a little too quickly, drawing Nagira's attention. His eyes were a fraction colder than usual which meant that they might have been ready to freeze anything they looked at, so Nagira quickly turned his attention elsewhere.

"Should we check out the bed and breakfast he mentioned?" Lady asked reasonably. "The Monarch, I think he called it. I don't remember seeing it before, but what difference does that make at this point?"

Nagira nodded. "They better have a damn wine cellar."

For once, Amon didn't protest.

The Monarch wasn't too far of a hike from the motel, but Nagira recognized halfway through their journey that they were heading in a direction they hadn't explored much when they were scouring the town. The reason they hadn't explored it was because the only landmark of note had been the burned out husk of a house on the hill overlooking the town. Considering the strange events they had already encountered since waking up in the church, he was hardly surprised to find that the ruin had been replaced by a fully intact house that sprawled over the crown of the hill.

"Okay..." he said when they got closer. "This takes the cake. Wasn't this place burned to the ground before? Tell me we didn't travel through time or something."

"I sure as hell hope not," Lady groaned. "The moment someone starts talking about the time-space continuum, I think I'm going to vomit."

"That might not be so bad," Amon said cuttingly, his apprehension making him short-tempered, "Maybe we'll run into ourselves and I'll finally have someone intelligent to talk to."

"Ouch," Nagira said, shaking his cigarette at him thoughtfully as he tapped ash off the end. "Good one, Amon." It was rare enough that Amon joined in on their pointless conversations that Nagira felt obligated to congratulate him on his contribution.

"Yeah, burrrrn," Lady said with a roll of her eyes. Nagira wondered absently if the gesture was making her dizzy considering how often she had reacted in that manner since he first met her.

"So, anyone want to take bets on who's going to show up on the other side of that door?" Nagira asked as they began walking up the front steps. "We're already in the Twilight Zone, so the sky's the limit. I vote for Dracula. And I think he's going to greet us with a request for our blood."

"That's stupid. You have no imagination at all." Lady shook her head. "And it doesn't even have anything to do with time traveling."

Nagira raised an eyebrow. "This place is creepy enough for a vampire. Why don't you come up with a better suggestion if you think mine is so lame?"

Obviously attempting to ignore them, Amon overtook them at the top of the stairs and reached for the front door. The door swung open a little too easily, and Amon gasped when he saw the man standing just inside the house with his hand clutching the knob on the opposite side of the door.

Peering down at Amon from beneath a tousled fringe of brown hair, the man shook his head sharply as if he didn't believe his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Where's Robin?" Amon demanded, pushing past him and through the doorway, that intent look burning in his eyes that he always got when he was sensing the girl's presence.

"Upstairs somewhere," the man answered with furrowed brows as he gazed at Amon as if he were seeing a ghost. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you doing here? I thought you were staying behind in Japan to take care of something. How did you get here so fast?"

"Fast?" Amon repeated, an unnatural gust of air tousling his hair that Nagira had to uncomfortably attribute to his craft. "I've been searching for you for nearly a month!"

"Time travel," Nagira mused, exchanging a glance with Lady. "Has to be."

"Yeah," Lady agreed. "And since Dante's here, he must be the one who burns the house down in the future. He never leaves a place unscathed."

Looking at the man more closely, Nagira tried to put together the few scraps of information Amon had divulged about Dante with the disturbingly handsome man standing before him. Nagira couldn't decide if he liked him or not, but it was obvious that Lady was fond of him despite her insults as she shoved his shoulder with a small grin.

"Forget to bleach your hair, Dante?" Lady teased, though Nagira didn't get the joke.

Ducking away from her touch when she reached for a strand of his hair, Dante replied with a scowl, "Don't even go there. And what are you doing with Captain Angsts-a-lot, anyway?"

"We ran into each other in town and found out we were all looking for the same demon."

"Really...who isn't looking for Lucifer at this point?" Dante asked blandly. Then, raising an eyebrow at Nagira, he added, "And who's Big Pimpin' here?"

Too outraged to reply, Nagira could do nothing but stare until the sound of Amon stomping across the foyer toward the stairs distracted all of them.

"Hey, Rambo! Slow down a second," Dante said with a soft sound of exasperation. Taking off after him with such speed that Nagira had trouble following him with his eyes, he continued, "Just what was that 'month' business?"

"Rambo?" Nagira echoed, a smile blossoming on his face though he still couldn't decide if the rather appropriate nickname quite made up for the previous insult. But who was he kidding? When you wore a big white fur coat, you had to be prepared to face the consequences.

Amon was halfway up the stairs when he stopped so abruptly that Dante had to grab on to the railing to stop his momentum before he ran into him.

The reason for his sudden stop was standing on the top step, a slender girl that Nagira realized with a sinking feeling must have been the goal of Amon's search from the beginning. She was dressed plainly but had an innate beauty that was both subtle and wholesome, and her sweet smile as she gazed down at Amon with large green eyes brimming with emotion told him everything he needed to know about her connection to Amon.

Amon dashed up the stairs between them a moment later and swept her up in his arms, clutching her thin form to his body and spinning them in a half circle with a sort of glee Nagira had never before seen his half-brother display. While Nagira was mildly relieved to know that Amon could fall in love like a normal person, he was more than a little concerned by the girl's youth and the gap between their ages. But he didn't know why he was surprised. Amon never could do things the easy way.

"So _this_ is the person you two have been searching for?" Lady asked with a raised brow.

Nagira couldn't help but smile. "Seems that way."

* * *

**Author's Note: So, now you know. Hope it didn't confuse you too badly. I've been working toward this revelation for a long time. In case the end threw anyone, though, Lady and Nagira are wrong in their theory. It's not time travel exactly—at least not in the way they are thinking. Robin and Vergil are the only ones who know the truth at this point. **

**I thought about naming this chapter "I got you babe" because the idea of a time loop kept making me think of Groundhog Day. I wanted to reference the movie somehow and I always thought it was funny that he woke up to that song every morning, but the title I ended up using actually fits better—and I'm sure my friend, Shivaindis, will enjoy its significance.**

**Because I've been waiting so long to reveal this plot twist, I can't wait to hear what people think about it. Did anyone see it coming? Is everyone totally confused? **


	17. Worthy of Survival

**Author's Note: Not much action in this chapter, but I had a few things still to set up before we could proceed. Besides, I just can't pass up the opportunity for one more dream sequence.**

**For anyone who's curious, the title of this chapter is from Battlestar Galactica. It comes from an episode dealing with the question of whether the ends always justify the means. In the story, the characters are lucky to even be alive and their survival is constantly being threatened, but they have to decide whether it is enough to survive at any cost, or if they must still be worthy of survival for their lives to have meaning. In this case, I see it as something of a question.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Worthy of Survival**

When something was making Dante uneasy, his first reaction was to do something about it. He didn't want to talk about it or analyze why it was making him uneasy. He wanted to tackle it and destroy it before it had the chance to take the advantage. But he was uneasy about their current situation on many different levels, and he couldn't think of a single thing to do about his uneasiness except stew in the corner of the room while his companions debated the various minutiae of the events that had led them to this time and place.

"I still don't understand how a month could have passed," Karasuma repeated with patience that was growing brittle around the edges. "We've only been here a day."

"Perhaps you have been. But we parted ways in Japan a month ago, so if you weren't here, you must have been somewhere." Amon retorted without a hint of humor in his voice.

Doujima shivered. "That's just so creepy."

"Don't worry," Sakaki said quite reasonably. "Unless there is some sort of spatial anomaly around here that is warping time, then we've either been in suspended animation for a month or abducted by aliens."

Doujima's face scrunched into a sour expression. "That doesn't make me feel any better at all."

"Though I hesitate to agree with him," Vergil mused with an pedantic air, "he might have a point. Lucifer could very well be capable of distorting our sense of time."

Robin glanced at Vergil covertly—as if his comment surprised her, though not in the way that one normally expected to be surprised when a person as stiffly condescending as Vergil started speaking technobabble like he was in an episode of Star Trek. In fact, Robin had been exchanging secretive glances with Vergil practically since he walked in the room—another item on the list of things that were making Dante uneasy. Right above it on the list was the way he couldn't seem to make sense of her feelings, as if she were guarding their connection and filtering out the emotions she didn't want anyone else to notice. He didn't know why she would do such a thing, but he knew that it meant something was wrong and it didn't matter what it was because he didn't like it.

"What would Lucifer have to gain from keeping us stuck in time?" Karasuma frowned. "It sounds like a pretty elaborate illusion."

"It gives him more time to find his body," Michael commented. "We can't look for it if we're trapped in his illusion—and we can't get in his way either."

"But it must take a lot of energy to keep us trapped here," Trish countered, tapping a finger against her lips. "That's a lot of drain when he's still not at full strength."

Dante wished that she wouldn't have drawn his attention to her lips. Frowning, he crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to look at her—tried not to even think about her. About her hair, silken soft when he ran his fingers through it and down her spine to the small of her back, fine and delicate as it tickled against his face when he nuzzled her neck. Or her the way her lips would quirk with the slightest smirk when she was pretending not to laugh at his terrible jokes, unbelievably soft when he would—

Telling himself to stop, Dante took a deep breath and tried to cool his head. Trish had made a significant effort to stay out of reach all evening, and had not been happy with the idea of sharing a room with him, let alone standing next to him when they gathered to hear Amon's story, deliberately choosing a spot on the opposite side of the room. He didn't think that it was his company that she was avoiding so much as she was trying to ensure he would not unwittingly brush up against her or breathe on her or give her cooties or whatever. She didn't seem to trust his control, and while he had to admit that he wasn't having the easiest time controlling his desires at the moment, her lack of trust only served to further frustrate him. He had always had a hard time keeping his eyes—and his hands—off of her, and it didn't matter that his brother had done something to drive a wedge between them, or that he had managed to make matters worse with his impatience, because he still wanted her just as badly.

Sighing, he tried to focus on the conversation again.

"Does it really matter why he's doing it?" Vergil demanded, his scowl more bitter than usual. "We've already agreed that, unless we've missed something utterly obvious, Lucifer is the only person around with both the capability to create such an elaborate illusion and a reason to do so. The question is not how he's doing it or why, but what we must do to break free of it."

Robin nodded and turned her intent gaze on Amon. "Do you know how you broke into this illusion?"

Shaking his head, he replied, "I don't know exactly. I was using my craft when things around me seemed to shift. I couldn't tell you exactly what I did—if it was even my doing to start with—and I passed out afterward so I don't even remember coming through to the other side."

"And all I remember is waking up with a headache worse than a hangover," Amon's half brother added, taking a drag on his cigarette. Frankly, Dante couldn't see the least bit of visual resemblance between the two of them, though he couldn't decide if that was because they really looked nothing alike or if he was simply too distracted by Nagira's massive sideburns and eccentric fashion sense to see anything else.

"Regardless," Lady huffed, attempting to casually wave Nagira's cigarette smoke away from her face, "it sounds like we don't have a lot of time to either find his body or break out of this illusion. Demons don't generally have a lot of patience and I'm sure this one's no different."

"While I agree with you," Karasuma said, slapping her palms on her thighs with an air of finality, "I think we would be able to think much more clearly about all of this after a good night's sleep. These endless spirals of circular reasoning are bound to only further exhaust us."

"Speaking of sleep," Lady said with an uncomfortable smile, "Do you know if there are any extra rooms available here?"

"Yes," Amon agreed, flushing a pale pink. "It seems that our reservations do not exist inside the illusion." Judging by the emotions he could sense through their connection, Dante would say he was embarrassed though he had no idea why.

"I'll go see if there's anything else available." Karasuma stood up, but hesitated on her way to the door. "But I have a feeling we're still going to have to do a little rearranging to get everyone to fit."

Dante didn't like the sound of that one bit, but he supposed it would probably improve Trish's mood somewhat. He had a strong suspicion about how Karasuma would decide to divide them up; being such a prude, she would undoubtedly start assigning rooms based on gender. And her next decision would probably be to put family members together.

His eyes wandered over to Vergil before he could stop himself. How long had it been since they had slept in the same room? Long enough that he couldn't even imagine the scenario—and back then they had at least pretended to get along enough to ease their mother's mind. Now, they would be lucky to survive a night without somehow murdering each other.

* * *

Focusing on taking off his shoes, Nagira listened to Amon's conversation on the other side of the room while trying not to visibly intrude. The two had been catching up for nearly an hour, and while he found Robin to be unsurprisingly mild-mannered and sweet, he was startled to find that she also had a stubborn, decisive side that made her seem more mature than she looked.

"I sensed you in the church too," Amon was telling her. "I simply knew you were nearby—just as I had when we were in the bar."

"That's amazing, Amon," Robin said cautiously as if she didn't want to disappoint him, "but I've never been to either of those places."

Nagira had always been proud of his ability to immediately tell if someone was lying. He had always thought it was a good trait for a lawyer to have—especially one who dealt with as many unusual cases as he did. She was working hard to sound sincere, but he knew instinctively that she was not being entirely truthful, though he had no idea why she would lie about something so unimportant.

"Perhaps you simply haven't gone there yet," Amon replied, seemingly oblivious to her lie. "If time is flowing at a different pace here than in the outside world, maybe I was sensing you in the future."

"Maybe."

Tossing his coat over a nearby chair, Nagira slid under the covers and cleared his throat a bit more obviously than was necessary. He sensed Amon casting a glare on him and he smiled, trying to arrange himself under the covers while wishing that his suitcase and comfy bunny pajamas would have come with him into this pocket dimension or whatever it was they had decided to call it.

"It's getting late," Amon said finally with a sigh that betrayed his annoyance. His tone shifted when he added reluctantly, "Maybe I should walk you back to your room."

Nagira watched Robin nod through squinted eyes that he was pretending were fully shut. "I am feeling rather tired," she agreed, but neither of them moved right away, clearly reluctant to end part now that they had finally been reunited.

While he couldn't blame them, he was fairly exhausted from all the bizarre things that had happened that day and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist the insistent tug of sleep for very long. Whether or not they managed to escape before his snores began reverberating through the room was not really his problem.

"Goodnight, Mr. Nagira," Robin said in that delicate voice he couldn't help but find endearing. She bowed politely on her way to the door.

Stirring from his half-sleep reluctantly, Nagira waved to her from the bed with a goofy smile he couldn't seem to avoid making. "Night, Robin. Don't let Amon try anything on the way back to your room."

She blinked at him. "Try anything?"

"It's best to ignore him," Amon said with his usual scowl, opening the door for her.

"I mean it!" Nagira called after them as they disappeared through the opening and Amon shoved the door shut behind him. "Underneath that tough exterior, Amon is quite the pervert!"

Pleased with himself, Nagira wriggled further under the covers and closed his eyes. Opportunities to truly get under Amon's skin didn't come along every day, and he was finding this new, adorably amorous Amon to be an easy mark. He was almost asleep by the time Amon returned and purposely kicked the bed on his way past.

Squinting up at him, he grumbled, "Are you really going to be that immature?"

"You started it," Amon retorted, though his tone was milder than he had expected. The relief of knowing Robin was safe had apparently done wonders for his patience.

Nagira blinked up at the ceiling as Amon sat down on the other side of the bed and began taking his shoes off. "She's a sweet girl," he said hesitantly, wondering if he should even be attempting this conversation when he was barely awake.

Amon sighed, but did not reply, stripping off his coat and sliding under the covers next to him.

Hesitating, Nagira glanced at Amon, but was unable to discern anything from his gloomy profile. "A bit younger than I expected," he said carefully, knowing he was asking for trouble.

"I am not having this conversation with you."

Nagira blinked in surprise at Amon's quick dismissal. "Amon..."

"No." Amon's scowl deepened and he rolled on his side, turning his back on Nagira. "I am not justifying myself to you, of all people."

"And exactly what is that supposed to mean?"

Amon's voice was muffled as he responded from between the covers and his pillow. "It means that you have never shown any particular restraint or wisdom in your choices of potential mates. You're not exactly in a position to lecture me."

Anger blunted the soft haze of his sleepiness and Nagira pushed himself up on his elbow. "I might have dated my share of unusual women, but I'm not so stupid as to fall for jail bait."

"I love her."

The simple honesty of Amon's statement stalled the protest in Nagira's throat. He had never before heard Amon utter the word "love" with such conviction, and he felt suddenly guilty for trying to interfere with the emotion when Amon so rarely even seemed capable of it.

"I don't need your permission or even your respect," Amon continued softly. "I can't change the way I feel—though I have tried on countless occasions. She has managed to win me over every time."

Dumbfounded, Nagira tried to come up with another argument, but he could hear the resignation in Amon's voice and he knew him well enough to interpret the tone of frustration. Amon hated to lose at anything, but he had clearly been defeated by this girl. Considering this new perspective, Nagira realized that he had vastly misinterpreted the situation. Amon was not taking advantage of Robin at all—with his stubborn streak, he had likely done everything in his power to fight her off.

"She must be persistent," Nagira said finally, lying back on the bed again.

"You have no idea."

* * *

Vergil glared at the wall as he listened to Dante's soft snores, wishing that he could have found a way out of this situation and half considering sleeping on the floor rather than continuing his fruitless attempts to ignore the warmth at his back. The bedroom was certainly spacious enough, and the bed was probably the largest in the house, but the irony of the fact that they were sharing their parents' bed was potent enough to make the mattress feel woefully small.

He should have seen the suggestion coming, but when Karasuma had maneuvered them all into their new room assignments with only a parting request that they not kill each other during the night, he had been too shocked to think of an excuse. He couldn't help but notice that with all the rearranging, she had ended up being the only one with a bed to herself. Perhaps he had underestimated her skill in manipulation.

Dante snorted softly causing Vergil to stiffen uncomfortably; the sound itself was rather unattractive, but he knew that every time Dante made a noise like that, he was bound to shift in his sleep. As expected, Vergil felt Dante roll over, and he clung to the edge of the mattress as it dipped behind him to prevent himself from sliding closer to his brother. Dante managed to make contact nonetheless, his hand brushing against Vergil's back.

Closing his eyes, Vergil tried to distract his mind, thinking back to everything Robin had told him. He didn't like finding out that he had been fooled, and Lucifer had clearly played him for a fool numerous times already, literally wiping his memory and pushing him this way and that like a toy made for his amusement. The fact that Robin had succeeded where he had failed made the frustration that much more painful.

On some level, he took satisfaction in their little clandestine pact, knowing that it would infuriate Dante if he knew, but the fact that he was literally relying on her more than he had ever relied on anyone before soured some of that joy. He didn't think she was dishonest enough to double cross him, but he still had a hard time trusting her. She had already demonstrated that she was capable of seeing straight through to the heart of his intentions, and that ability would make it difficult for him to gain the upper hand, especially when she seemed determined to keep him honest.

While the subject matter should have been compelling enough, exhaustion was taking its toll on him and thoughts kept sliding out of his mind. Dante shifted again behind him and he didn't even react, his body too heavy to be persuaded to even move. Floating in a state somewhere between waking and sleeping, he imagined that Dante's hand had drifted up his back and then back down his side and around his waist, pulling him closer as he nuzzled against his neck, spooning him as if they were lovers. It must have been a dream, but it felt so pleasant that Vergil didn't even question his perceptions, burrowing himself closer to the warmth behind him and finally drifting off to sleep.

_He was walking down a dark hallway. A flash of lightning illuminated the tossing limbs of tree outside as it grasped at an oppressive evening sky. He reached for a nonexistent sword when he heard the clatter of marionettes dropping from the ceiling. Glancing back over his shoulder, he watched them approach with awkward steps, half-moon blades slicing through the air. Though he didn't remember the place or the enemies, he knew that he had been there before, and he knew where to go. _

_Kicking the door open and ducking into the room beneath a barrage of blades, he managed to fling the doors shut again before the creatures could follow him. Thunder heralded another brilliant crack of lightning and he turned just in time to see a tall figure silhouetted against a row of tall windows. Curved horns rose from the figure's helmet, and wicked spikes extended from various points along the night-black armor, faint blue lines circumscribing the shape as the figure turned and glared at him coldly. _

"_Nero Angelo," Vergil said crisply, recognizing the mask that he had once worn and understanding for the first time how Dante had failed to recognize him before it was too late. _

_The figure removed the helmet and tilted its head at him, pale hair streaked with blue and skin an icy, frostbitten hue that nearly camouflaged the familiar features. Brandishing a broad blade, the figure scowled at him, but did not speak. _

"_What do you want?"_

_Shaking its head, Nero Angelo buried its blade in the marble floor and looked away._

"_Tell me," Vergil insisted. "What do you want from me?"_

_Looking back over its shoulder, the figure replied in a dark, distorted voice. "Death." Taking a step toward him, it spread menacing hands like a ghastly actor, claw-like fingers stretched wide. "You are already dead." _

_Maggots began crawling out of the armor, scurrying over Nero Angelo's pale visage, and Vergil stumbled back a step in horror. The ground rumbled beneath him and he heard Nero Angelo pull the sword out of the ground again as he turned on his heel and began to run. _

_Air was burning in his lungs before he realized that he was not in the castle anymore but outside on a barren hillside, his boots raising a cloud of dust every time they landed. Sliding to a stop against an outcropping of rock, he tried to catch his breath, the dingy air choking his lungs. He didn't know where he was, but he was noticing a disturbing similarity in his surroundings with the demon world. _

_Clutching a stitch in his side, he straightened and limped his way over the top of the hill to get a better view. The hill ended in a cliff overlooking a ragged chasm. He could see the faint glow of something red deep within the fissure and the air wavered above it with obvious heat. Deciding he could go no further in that direction, he turned back the way he had come and froze when he saw the man standing behind him, white hair painted red with blood and crimson coat shredded and haplessly dangling from broad shoulders._

"_Dante," he whispered. _

_Smirking weakly, Dante glared at him with tired eyes drained of their color. "Are you done pretending yet?"_

_Vergil shook his head. "Pretending?"_

"_Pretending you're alive."_

"_What happened to you?" Vergil countered, avoiding the question._

_Dante approached him one step at a time, blood dripping from his chin and leaving tiny puddles at his feet as he slowly closed the distance between them. "Did you think Lucifer would be content to just keep playing with us forever?"_

"_He wouldn't hurt you," Vergil protested without any real conviction. "He knows that would be the quickest way to make me his enemy."_

_Chuckling bitterly, Dante shook his head. "Do you really think that matters to him? It's not as if you could be a threat to him."_

_Vergil backed up a step, intensely conscious of the chasm at his back. "I am more of a threat to him than he thinks."_

"_How could you be?" Dante grinned, throwing up his hands as he leered at Vergil. "He owns you, brother. He's the one who makes your heart beat. He's the one who breathed life into your lungs. Without him, this illusion of life that you're clinging to would fade away to ashes."_

_Taking another reluctant step backward, Vergil growled, "Even so, my weakness is also his. He bound his fate with mine when he brought me back."_

"_Is that what you believe?" Dante stopped, close enough now to touch, the gashes across his face all too clear as he smirked at Vergil through a mask of blood, the faint white of bone flashing beneath his cheek as he spoke._

_Vergil looked away sharply as nausea washed over him. _

"_If that's really what you think," Dante hissed, grabbing his arm harshly and pulling him back toward him, "then you know what you must do."_

_Looking back at him before he could think better of the action, Vergil recoiled when Dante leaned closer._

"_You must atone for your sins." _

_Vergil shook his head and tried to take another step, hesitating when he felt rock crumble beneath his foot._

"_Father sealed Lucifer's body away with more than his blood," Dante continued. "He sacrificed some of his own power to create the seal." His hand gripped Vergil's shoulder painfully. "Our blood might break the seal, but how will you destroy Lucifer once it's broken?"_

"_I don't know," Vergil whispered. _

_Dante's hand slid toward his neck and closed about it with a vise-like grip. "Sacrifice is a powerful tool. But it must mean something. It has to represent a significant loss—has to be made for the right reasons—to make a difference."_

_Choking, Vergil clawed at Dante's hand, glancing desperately over his shoulder as his brother forced him back a step and the cliff crumbled beneath his feet. He could feel the heat rising from the yawning fissure as Dante held him suspended over the void. "Don't do this," he pleaded in a gasp._

_Tilting his head, Dante smirked again like a macabre clown, his face painted red with blood. "You love me."_

_Vergil moaned softly at the back of his throat, his eyes blurring as his hands went still on Dante's and he felt his strength waning._

"_If you love me, then you will die for me." Leaning close enough that his bloody lips brushed against Vergil's cheek, he breathed, "You're the one who jumps off the cliff and leaves me behind...just like before."_

"_No!" Vergil cried when he felt Dante's grip loosen, trying to hold onto Dante's arm before it was out of reach, but he was already falling, gravity pulling him hungrily downward past knife-sharp shards of obsidian rock and into the depths._

Vergil's throat felt raw when he sat up in bed and gasped for air, his breaths sounding harshly in the quiet. The room was dark and cold, and he shivered as the sheen of sweat seemed to freeze on his skin, shudders wracking his body as he tried to convince himself that the disturbing experience had only been a dream.

"So, I ask myself," Dante said suddenly, shattering Vergil's illusion that he had a moment to collect himself, "what could possibly cause someone as guiltless and honorable as Vergil to wake up screaming?"

Taking a shaky breath, Vergil looked over at him, surprised to find him sitting casually on the other side of the room in a chair. "Did I wake you?" he asked sarcastically, hoping that he had brutally woken him out of an incredibly pleasant sleep.

"You groped me in your sleep is what you did," Dante retorted.

Vergil grimaced. "I can't be responsible for what I do when I'm asleep," he muttered.

"Makes me wonder though...was it a wet dream or a nightmare? Either way I don't think I'm going to be sharing the bed with you any time soon."

"You won't have to." Vergil slid out of bed on shaky knees, reaching for his coat and slinging it weakly about his shoulders.

"Where are you going?" Dante smirked and the expression reminded him painfully of his dream. "To take a cold shower?"

"On a walk," Vergil answered sharply, shivering even in his coat.

To his surprise, Dante caught his arm before he could reach the door, a shred of concern revealed in his eyes as they caught in the moonlight. "Hey," he said softly, suddenly serious as if he had finally figured out that it had been a nightmare and that it had clearly disturbed Vergil. "You want to talk about it?"

Caught off guard, Vergil gaped at him for a moment. The sincerity in Dante's expression sent a sharp ache piercing through his chest and Vergil had to look away to keep himself from losing control. "Go back to bed," he ground out, his throat tight.

Dante held on to his arm a moment longer before releasing it reluctantly. It was all Vergil could do to keep walking, fleeing Dante's undeserved compassion and trying to stop his uncontrollable shivers.

* * *

Staring at the ceiling, Trish wondered why she was even bothering to continue lying there when she knew that she wasn't likely to get to sleep any time soon. She hadn't sleep well since the demon world, and while the opportunity to delay the inevitable with Dante a little longer had eased her mind, it hadn't improved her poor sleeping habits. The truth was that avoiding telling Dante the truth wasn't helping anything; it made her edgey and him frustrated, and the guilt seemed to grow a little heavier with each day.

Lady rolled over and narrowly avoided hitting Trish in the face with a flailing arm. Grimacing, Trish decided it was probably best that she was awake already because Lady wasn't the safest bedmate; she had already kicked her twice, and she was hogging more than half of the bed though she was a good deal shorter than Trish and should have technically taken up less space.

"Mmmahmmm...nnnumbers..." Lady mumbled as she settled back into a deeper sleep.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Trish decided that she had had enough and slid off the bed. Tying her hair back loosely in a knot, she slipped on some shoes and decided to go for a walk, hoping that a little fresh air would refresh her.

Her feet carried her to the back door and she found herself wandering down the steps and into a crumbling courtyard before she began paying attention to where she was going. The paving stones were cracked and overgrown with weeds, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she wandered along circuitous paths lit with pale starlight. She found the fresh air invigorating, but it was slightly too cool to be comfortable and she hugged her arms to herself when a brisk breeze howled past. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," she muttered, but didn't move, gazing up at an incredible sky so heavy with stars that it seemed close enough to touch.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

Startled, Trish found Vergil standing nearby, perched on a broken pedestal with his arms wrapped around his waist. He had been standing so still that he looked like just another broken statue silhouetted against the starry sky. She should have turned and walked back into the house before he had a chance to try anything, but she refused to let him know that she still feared him. "What are you doing out here?" she asked tonelessly.

"Trying to forget a nightmare."

She raised an eyebrow, stunned that he had admitted a weakness so freely, but also suspicious about his reasons. "It's hard to imagine that someone like you has nightmares."

He chuckled dryly. "Everyone has nightmares."

She shrugged. "Everyone capable of experiencing doubt, at least. I didn't know you fell into that category."

"It's not doubt," he murmured. "It's fear."

Another cold wind whistled through the ragged cracks in the cracked architecture while Trish regarded him in wonder, her teeth chattering as she tried to cling to her body heat before it was swept away. "What could you possibly be afraid of?"

He looked at her, his eyes glimmering like mercury in the starlight and the expression on his pale face strangely vulnerable. He said nothing for a long time, and then looked away again, his jaw set with some emotion she could not interpret. "You look cold. You should go back inside."

Irritated that he had frozen up so quickly after dangling the carrot of vulnerability so temptingly before her, Trish snapped, "Done talking already? Worried I might find a way to use your weaknesses against you if you keep going?" She took a step toward him, her anger helping to warm her. "I have a revelation for you, Vergil: not everyone is as manipulative as you are."

"You still haven't told him, have you?" he said calmly, simultaneously changing the subject and proving her point.

Gritting her teeth, she retorted, "Unlike you, I don't like to see Dante in pain."

"He's already in pain. Wouldn't it be better to end it quickly?" His choice of words was distant, clinical, as if he were suggesting euthanizing an injured animal.

"Are you resorting to reverse psychology now?" she asked with thinly contained malice. "You're the one who was so eager to watch him suffer."

Ignoring her comment, he said, "He would forgive you." His smile twisted with bitterness as he looked back up at the sky. "He's very forgiving."

Confused, Trish shook her head. "There are some things he won't forgive."

Closing his eyes, he stepped off the pedestal and landed on the stone cobbles with liquid grace, his coattails rippling with the movement. She held her ground as he approached her with measured steps, refusing to back away when he caught her in his unblinking gaze. "He loves you," he murmured. "If you tell him, he will forgive you and he will hate me more."

"Isn't that what you wanted?" she asked, unable to shake the feeling that she was actually hearing regret in his voice.

"Yes," he murmured with a self-deprecating smile. Then, shrugging out of his coat suddenly, he swept it gently around her, his fingers lingering on her shoulders. She was too stunned to even move, though he was standing far too close for comfort. "Caring about me is the last thing he needs to do."

She shivered beneath his coat, but this time it had nothing to do with the temperature. Vergil was so cracked that she could barely wrap her mind around his contradictory nature. "All he's ever wanted from you is a brother," she said acerbically. "Is that so much to give him?"

Turning his back on her, he said softly, "I don't know how."

"Maybe you should learn."

His eyes darted back to her. "That's not the real reason you're so angry with me, though, is it? I think I know why you're really angry, but what happened between us in the demon world is not your fault. You have no reason to feel guilty."

Shaking with wrath, she growled, "Don't you even dare..."

"I provoked your reaction and you had no choice but to submit," he said icily, blocking her punch with seemingly little effort and catching her other wrist to prevent a second attempt. "I used what I knew about your nature against you."

"Let go." Panicking, she tried to twist her way out of his grip, hating that the danger was arousing the demon within her.

He released her abruptly and she stumbled back a step, watching him cautiously as she tried to catch her breath.

"I was jealous of you," he said, his palms still raised, though now the gesture looked almost like surrender. "Because of what you have that I never will."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, rubbing her wrists.

That bitter smile twisted his lips again. "The same thing we've been talking about from the beginning." Shaking his head, he walked a few steps away and looked up at the sky again. "Dante."

She decided she no longer wanted to understand what he was saying. His coat blocked the wind and was warm about her shoulders, but she didn't want it either. Flinging it carelessly on the ground and grinding it into the pavement with her heel, she said, "You don't deserve to even be related to him. If it's hatred you want, then you've got it. I wish you many more nightmares, asshole."

Stalking back to the house with only her anger to warm her, Trish tried to shake off the feeling that he had just shared a deep secret with her and that she had refused to even consider it. In her opinion, he had done nothing to merit a second chance, and she had only made an effort to be civil to him for Dante's sake because the fewer reasons he had to hate Vergil, the better off he would be. But now she thought that the only time Vergil would stop making people hate him would be when he was dead. And even then, she wondered if he could find a way to get around the inconvenience.

* * *

Robin woke with the faint glow of dawn on her face. Though they had gone to bed late, she had slept well enough to feel fully rested despite the early hour. Smiling as she snuggled under the blankets, she considered trying to sleep in for once and enjoy the comfort of knowing that Amon was sleeping just down the hall. They still had a lot to figure out and Lucifer was still a threat, but all of it seemed less daunting now that she knew he was nearby.

But the dawn light was distracting her and she was already too awake to doze. Sighing softly, she crawled out of bed and dressed quickly, trying to be quiet so she wouldn't wake Doujima who was still an unmoving lump buried somewhere beneath the covers. Slipping out into the hallway and softly shutting the door behind her, Robin decided to leave her hair down for the moment and shoved her ribbons into her pocket. The floor creaked beneath her feet and she walked as lightly as she could down the stairs, trying to decide what she was going to do with this extra time before the others finally crawled out of bed.

The sitting room was on the east side of the house and already filled with golden sunlight when she entered. She had decided to search the bookshelves for a good book, but she paused when she noticed that the room was not empty. Books were strewn across the floor along with various papers and notes, and she immediately recognized the blue coat thrown over the back of a chair.

"Vergil?"

He glanced at her without moving his head, one hand braced against the window as he leaned against the wall with a weary posture. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles and his skin was ghostly pale, nearly as white as his unusually disheveled hair. "I've solved the riddle," he said softly.

She took another step, her neck straining so she could get a better look at him. "Did you sleep last night?" she asked with a hint of concern, disturbed by his haggard features.

"I know the answer," he insisted, ignoring her question entirely. "Are you prepared to hear it?"

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was asking and she immediately raised a shield with her craft to keep Lucifer from overhearing their conversation. "Yes."

Nodding once, he turned to face her, his expression deathly serious. "Sparda sacrificed a good portion of his life energy in order to create the seal on Lucifer. He knew that even he was not strong enough to destroy him completely, so he chose to seal him away, separating his body from his soul in order to keep him from reviving. But his seal was flawed because it left Lucifer's soul in a place that could still be accessed by demons. Now, Lucifer's soul has managed to escape, and it cannot be destroyed when his body is still sealed. While he is not at full strength without it, Lucifer is essentially invincible as long as his body is safe. That is why he's in no rush to claim it. As long as his body is sealed away in a place no one can touch, he cannot die."

Standing next to him at the window, Robin considered his explanation with a hint of dread, the feelings of contentment that she had felt on waking dissolving quickly. Everything he said made sense, but it only made their task that much more daunting. "If that's true, then how can we win?"

Turning back to the window, he frowned. "Spells of this magnitude invariably require a sacrifice. Father sacrificed his blood and a part of his power to create it. Dante and I will need only our own blood to unlock it. But that is only half of the solution."

"I thought we were going to renew the seal," Robin protested, her hands tightening in her skirts.

Pale blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Haven't you been listening? A seal will only delay the inevitable. He cannot be killed as long as he is separated from his body, and someday he will find a way to destroy even a new seal if he is allowed to roam freely."

"But he will be so much more powerful when he has access to his body."

"We will have a brief window of time before he can bring that power to fruition. During that period he will be more vulnerable than ever. But he will surely know that and take precautions to keep himself safe. That's why we must catch him off guard."

"How?"

He glared out the window at the town below. The buildings were painted in soft shades of gray as the sun slowly ascended over the distant mountains and sparked fire along the peaks. "A sacrifice," he whispered. "Altruism is a threat to Lucifer. It is the antithesis of everything he is—and it will weaken him."

"A sacrifice?" she repeated, trying to find some shred of emotion in his eyes though she could not seem to locate even a hint of humanity.

"Yes. Father sacrificed enough of himself that it eventually proved to be his downfall. But he still did not make the ultimate sacrifice. That is what is required now."

"Death," she concluded, suddenly aware of her heartbeat in a way she had not been before. Though she had felt well-rested only minutes before, she felt tired now as if she had been awake for days. She could barely remember the pleasant feeling she had felt upon waking--as if the feeling had been only an illusion to begin with--and she wondered how she could have been so foolish as to think that all of the pain was already behind them.

"We should arrange for the others to become aware of the church today and the tomb beneath it," he said casually as if they had not just been talking about suicide. "We need Dante for the next step."

"You intend to make me the sacrifice, don't you?" she murmured, trying to piece together what he wasn't saying.

He did not reply, but she could feel his eyes watching her. Glancing up at him, she tried to interpret the complicated expression on his face, but he looked away before she could make sense of it. "A pure sacrifice would likely have more power," he said finally. "And your purity is undeniable."

Nodding, she tried to soak in this revelation. She knew that she had been created for a purpose, and somehow she had always known deep inside that her true purpose would require her death. She didn't want to die, but if her death meant that those she cared about would be safe, then she would be happy to die. "I'm not afraid to die, and I will do anything to protect them." Looking back at him, she added firmly, "But I ask that you give me one more day. We will still have time to do what we must tomorrow."

Again he remained silent, only inclining his head in consent. "Tomorrow we will end this. Lucifer will be dead before his deadline expires."

* * *

**Author's Note: All the not sleeping going on in this chapter made me tired. Yawn.  
**

**This chapter turned out to be more Vergil-centric than I intended, but he really is the key player in this last arc, so I'm not going to feel too bad about the emphasis on his character. I think the next chapter will feature Robin much more prominently though as she tries to come to terms with what she thinks must be done. I'm not sure if we will get to the final battle in the next one or not—I guess it depends on how wordy I get. :) Regardless we're really really close (and it's already partially written).  
**

**And don't worry overmuch about Robin. I promise not to give us a depressing tragic sort of ending—at least not entirely.**


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